A Shadow Stirring
by twinsuns09
Summary: Jen's never had a green thumb, but after leaving her soul-sucking city career, she's invested everything in renovating her grandfather's farm in Stardew Valley. (Call it a pre-mid-life crisis.) And since moving to his aunt's ranch with his young goddaughter, Shane's been slow to adapt to country living-but he does know a thing or two about chickens. Shane/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Though I posted this on AO3, I neglected to cross-post here. And sometimes we all need a little Stardew Valley fluff in our lives. :)

* * *

One

Too damn early in the morning, Shane stumbled from his aunt's house. A splinter of sunlight rose over Stardew Valley, spearing him in the eyes. Cursing both it and the early hour, he clutched a mug of coffee for dear life as he let his feet take him down the familiar forest path to the Cindersap lake.

He hadn't seen 5 am in years, especially on a weekend. But nightmares had chased Jas into his room at midnight, and the cajoling required to calm her and get her back to sleep left him wired. And with the sunrise came the bird chatter trilling through his window—though now that he was out among the trees with the autumn air chilling his cheeks, the noise was soothing rather than annoying. He rounded the ledge of the lake, eager to reach the end of the pier and—

There was someone fishing from his spot.

Weariness burned his heavy-lidded eyes, but rubbing them did nothing to dispel the image of the mist-shrouded woman slowly casting out her fishing line, her movements so graceful that when the morning fog rolled between them, she could have been some sort of ancient, ethereal spirit conjured from the lake itself. Then the sun broke through the cloud and she swore as a fish slipped the hook, and she was once again contemporary: her sun-streaked brown hair done up in two messy buns, her tanned skin dark against the mist. She shrugged her shoulders in her oversized gray sweater, settling in to wait for another nibble on the line. Rubber boots obscured her jeans to the knees, as battered as the fishing basket waiting open at her feet.

Damn, he was tired. He blinked again, clearing his head, and was surprised to realize that he knew who this was, sort of. He'd seen her on the way to work, had possibly even spoken to her once or twice at the saloon. The woman renovating the farm just north of here, whatever her name was.

Shane stood watching her, hesitant to invade her solitude—even though, damn it, _she_ was the one intruding on his favorite haunt. But he didn't want to tell her to leave, either, just as he didn't really want to leave, and so he hovered in a silent, uncomfortable impasse. A thought struck him, churning anxiety in his gut, and he was pretty sure that he was supposed to know her name, that she had introduced herself to him. But he didn't remember it. The only thing he knew about her, aside from where her farm was, was that she was maybe a few years younger than him, in her mid-twenties, new to the valley, and pretty in a vibrant, full-of-life way that intimidated him into silence.

"Plenty of room on the dock for both of us," she called, not bothering to turn toward him. Her voice shattered the silence, sending birds winging from their roosts in the nearby oak trees. "I promise I won't bite. Just like the fish."

Shit. He couldn't leave now she'd seen him, but small talk with strangers was his personal idea of hell. He drank a long swig of coffee before trudging out onto the frost-slicked dock. The mist eased from sight as he neared her, swallowing them both. He'd nearly reached her before he realized that she'd made a joke, that he probably should have laughed. He glanced down, mentally reaching for something to say, some topic of conversation, and noticed that the basket at her feet was empty.

"No luck catching anything this morning?" he asked, and mentally cringed. What a lame conversation opener. He flushed, waiting for the biting comeback he knew he deserved. Thankfully, she still didn't look at him as she shook her head.

"I've never been any good at fishing. But I found my grandpa's old rod out in the shed and thought…" she paused, glanced at him over her shoulder, and he found himself meeting her gaze rather than letting his glance slide down to her feet; for a moment, he couldn't look away from the forest-depths verdant green of her eyes. "Your name is Shane, right? I didn't think anyone would be out here so early. If I'm in your way, I can leave."

"Yup, it's Shane." He eased past her to sit at the far end of the dock. Hoarfrost burned cold through his jeans, but he ignored it as the spectacle of the lake took his breath away. Except for where her fishing bob nodded in the shallows, the lake was utterly still, mirrored as though overlaid with a skin of frost. Autumn wasn't quite old enough to freeze the lake solid, not yet. He said, belatedly, "You can stay if you want. I just needed to get out of the house."

"Well, thanks." She glanced at her wrist watch. "I should probably head back up to the farm anyway. Need to haul some pumpkins up to Pierre's."

He nodded and sipped his coffee. "I guess I'll see you around, then."

Which came out sounding like a dismissal, and far more gruff than he'd intended. He maybe should have asked her about her pumpkins or farming or—hell—even why someone who was no good at fishing would bother getting up before dawn to try it. But backtracking to fix what he'd said, he knew from painful experience, would only make it worse. He cleared his throat, and kept his eyes fixed on the rose and golden morning light gleaming off the water.

She'd already packed up her gear and disappeared up the rocky path leading to her property before he realized that not only had he not heard her goodbye, he'd forgotten to ask her name.

* * *

A week later, Shane hauled a crate of chickens up to the farm girl's house. Marnie's neat cursive curled on the invoice taped to the top of the crate, proclaiming,

 _Jen_ _Evans_

 _Briarly Farm_

 _Leghorn chicken (2)_

Jen Evans. The name swam in his mind with foggy, half-hearted familiarity. But at least now he didn't have to ask for it.

"Thank you, Marnie," Shane muttered to himself, grateful to be out of the you-know-my-name-but-I-don't-remember-yours and is-it-rude-for-me-to-ask-again mental ruts his thoughts had been wandering down ever since Marnie had mentioned that she'd sold two of her best layers to the new farmer.

"Gave her a discount because her grandfather was one of my best customers before he passed," Marnie had said at breakfast, grinning as she laid the invoice down next to her half-finished plate of eggs and bacon. "Hopefully she'll take after him. There's lots of space up at Briarly for raising animals, even if it is a bit run down now."

"Run down?" Shane frowned, not liking the idea of sending any of their chickens to live in squalor. "I'll take 'em up, then. Make sure that the coop looks okay. Last thing I want is for some of my girls to wander off and get eaten."

"That's sweet of you, Shane," Marnie said, and he wasn't sure whether she was referring to his concern with the birds' safety, or his willingness to do the chore. Either way, she covered her obvious surprise with a smile. "That'll free up some time in my schedule. I was going to run Jas into town to play with her little friend Vincent, and then probably stop by the saloon—"

"Sure." Shane had pulled a jacket over his dark hoodie and drained the last bit of his coffee before swinging by the coop to pick out which chickens to send. Two of the best layers, as promised.

"If the farm's not up to par," he told the chickens now, huffing a little as he climbed the rocky bluff separating Marnie's ranch from Briarly farm, "you're coming back with me."

The last lingering warmth from that long-ago cup of coffee drained from Shane's system as he topped the rise and got his first good look at the little farm. 'Run down' wasn't an exaggeration.

Jen Evans had evidently cleared the swath of land immediately adjacent to the path, but a stone's throw away, overgrown grass, scattered driftwood, and crumbling stone walls obscured what once had been cultivated fields. The forest grew thick right up to the edge of two small ponds, a mess of dried out vine and weed that would take forever to clear out. Dying autumn leaves obscured the worn dirt path, crunching under his feet as he headed toward the small cluster of buildings on the northern edge of the property.

A small field of corn and other unrecognizable crops abutted what Shane thought was the chicken coop, and beyond that a small house lay nestled under the eaves of the mountains. The lights in its windows gleamed warm and welcoming in the gray afternoon, and Shane cut across the wild field toward it, eager to escape the cutting wind.

He left the crate on the house's rickety front porch. "I'll be right back, girls," he said, turning to knock on Jen's door. He stepped back, waiting. The door was freshly painted a rich brown, flanked on either side by small bales of hay stacked with pumpkins, ears of corn, and small gourds.

She'd probably grown the decorations herself, he realized, twisting to look over his shoulder at her small corn field. He grinned at the picturesque scene of a scarecrow standing vigil at the far side of the waving corn, crows lining up on the wooden fence but not daring to come any closer. The farm was itself was quiet, and peaceful, and Shane didn't want to ruin it by rapping again on the door or shouting to see if anyone was home.

When no one answered, Shane hefted the crate and wandered toward the spacious, newly-constructed chicken coop. Stacks of stone bricks led down to the coop like guiding cairns, stationed for later construction into a path. He was just reaching for the coop's door latch when a black blur of a dog charged out of nowhere, barking up a storm.

"Shit!" The chickens screeched and darted in the crate, shedding white feathers that rained down as Shane lifted the crate above his head. The young collie dog danced around him, torn between barking at him and sniffing, and in the next moment the coop door swung open, catching him in the shoulder.

He swallowed his curse as he turned, found Jen Evans' staring at at him, eyes wide. She clapped a hand over her mouth before saying, "I'm sorry! I didn't expect anyone to be there. Nugget, quiet!"

The dog shushed, and gave him one last disgruntled sniff before disappearing back into the coop. Shane lowered the crate to shield himself from Jen's eyes, and tilted the opening so she could see down into it. The distraction worked, and she looked from him to the two disgruntled chickens inside. "I, um. I brought the chickens you ordered from Marnie."

She beamed up at him. "Really? I only put the order in yesterday." And then, her attention bouncing back to him so fast it was startling, she asked, "Are you sure you're okay? I didn't get you too hard with that door?"

"I'm fine." He shrugged away her concern, even though he could already feel the bruise rising on his shoulder. "Where should I set this?"

"Just in here. Robin is finishing with the feeder."

"Automation, nice."

"Isn't it? I had no idea how much of that sort of stuff was available for farm work. It's expensive, but the sprinkler system alone saves me so much labor it's worth it."

Shane followed Jen inside, sighing as the coop's warmth enveloped him. A red-headed woman, the town carpenter, grinned at him as he entered. "Shane! Haven't seen you in a while."

"I keep busy," he said absently, looking past her into the coop. He whistled low, impressed. "This is nice. Lots of room for these girls." He set the crate on the straw-strewn floor, under one of the coop's two heat lamps. The dog rushed over, sniffing and wagging her tail like crazy, but didn't nip at the two chickens as they flew out of the crate.

"Good girl," he said, crouching to rub the dog's soft, perking ears. "Guard them, don't bite."

She woofed in reply, and bounded off to snuffle the ground beneath the low shelves where the two chickens scratched in the hay, getting to know their new surroundings. When he looked up, Robin had gone. Jen leaned casually against the door frame, arms crossed, watching him with obvious bemusement. The light streamed in behind her, haloing her before glittering off the motes of hay and dust churned up in the air, and _fuck_ she was attractive.

He blushed, realizing he was still staring at her, caught off guard and off kilter as the word _sexy_ tumbled through his mind like he was some sort of adolescent. He stood, wiping the dog hair from his hands onto his jeans. "I guess… I just wanted to make sure the coop would work for them. But you've done a good job setting things up."

"I'm pretty excited, I've never had chickens before," she said, reaching into the feeder to scatter two handfuls of grain on the dirt floor. "I'm looking forward to home-grown omelets. Fresh eggs, my own mushrooms and peppers and tomatoes, the works."

"Chickens mostly take care of themselves if you know what they need. I run Marnie's coop, so—ah." He hesitated, hoping that didn't make him sound too pathetic, then redirected the conversation back to something he was at least confident about: the chickens.

"These are two of our best layers. It'll take them a few days to settle but then you should start finding eggs, I'd guess within a few weeks. Although with the cold settling in, it might take longer, so don't worry. Pixie likes to bury them in her nest, so you have to hunt for them. She's a little wild."

"Pixie?"

Shane smiled, and pointed from one chicken to the other, naming them. "Pixie and Mama Girl. Jas named them, and at her age I'm just glad they aren't called Cluck or something," he added, stepping over to scratch Mama Girl on the back, between her wings.

"That's adorable. I'm guessing Jas is the little girl I saw running around the ranch yesterday? She seems pretty shy."

"She is. She's better with the animals than with people, which I totally understand. Um, giving scritches like this is sure to get you on Mama Girl's good side, and she'll leave the eggs right out in the open for you."

And then he realized that he was rambling about chicken personalities like a moron. He cleared his throat and glanced around the low building. It had plenty of perching space, but… "You'll need to sweep out at least once a week. They lay better if their droppings aren't everywhere. And on nice days you can let them out into the yard to scratch for bugs in the grass, and it'll save you on some feed costs."

"Hadn't thought of that," Jen said, swiping a gloved hand over her brown hair to knock out a few stray shafts of hay. "Thanks."

"No problem. We should leave them alone for a few hours, though. The crate and the dog stressed them out a little."

"Sounds like a plan. Come on, Nugget."

They followed the dog back out into the open. The bitter wind knifed deep, cutting straight through his jacket. He shivered and hunkered deeper into his hoodie, even as he relished the frigid, fresh air. It cut through the gray and made him feel somehow more alive. "Seems like it might snow. Or rain, at least."

"Snow this early in the year? I never saw snow back in the city until mid-winter."

"Autumn's almost over," he said, shrugging. And damn it all, now he was talking about the weather. A silence fell between them, and before he could think how to break it, she asked,

"So, you're Marnie's farm manager?"

"Not really. I'm her nephew. The chickens are more of a hobby thing."

She hugged herself and glanced around the farmyard, squinting as though suddenly pained. And abruptly, she laughed. "You know, I'm not quite sure what I was thinking. Moving out here, thinking I could make a living at farming. Now that I'm here, it doesn't feel really… real."

"I felt a little like that when we moved out here," he said, bending again to pet the dog just to give himself something to do. "Pelican Town is so different from the city. But you've got a nice spot here."

"You're from Zuzu City, too?" she asked, crouching next to him. The dog, Nugget, rolled over onto her belly, so overjoyed by their scratching fingers and the attention that soon she was back up again and dancing off to chase the crows, leaving the pair of them kneeling in the dirt.

"Yeah," Shane said, sitting back on his heels. "Been out here almost two years." Two years, a crawling eternity since his life had finally fallen apart. It felt like one long, unending haze.

Jen tilted her head to the side, clearly noticing his change in expression, but she didn't pry. Instead, she climbed back to her feet. "It's getting colder out. Listen, ah… do you want to come in and warm up, have some tea. Or coffee? It's the least I can do for the speedy delivery," she added as he frowned, unsure how to answer. "And, that way, you can tell me more about how to take care of the chickens? If you want to, that is."

She smiled. Something within Shane's chest tightened, and he realized that that smile, the way her face lit up with expectation—it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And he knew, somehow, that he would ruin that gift of a smile. So before she had the chance to look at him like that again, he stood and took a step back, wanting to run.

"I wouldn't want to bore you."

She rolled her eyes, as though she thought he was making a self-deprecating joke. "You wouldn't. It's just a cup of coffee. I mean, we're neighbors, we should probably get to know one another."

"I shouldn't," he said, and when her face flushed, her eyebrows lifting in surprise, he nodded south over his shoulder, back toward Marnie's property. "Marnie needs me on the ranch today. But, ah—if you need anything or have questions about the chickens, Marnie's number is on the invoice."

He retreated then, satisfied that he hadn't bungled that parting too awfully.

"Maybe another time," she called after him. "And Shane—" her voice ensnared him, forcing him to turn and look back at her. "Thank you for the advice. I'll let you know how it goes."

Right. The chickens. The only thing he was good for, anyway. The sun disappeared behind roiling cloud as she leapt up the porch steps and escaped into the warmth of her house. Nugget settled down on the porch like a monarch surveying their realm, but woofed happily at him as he cut once again through the field. The wind picked up at his back, blowing him home.

Its icy fingers ripped through the trees a moment before a spattering of raindrops turned into a deluge, each pelting drop a shocking revelation—too late, now—of how badly he'd wanted to join her for that cup of coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

Jen Evans loaded the last of the corn onto her Fair grange display and stepped back, hiding her smile.

She had to admit, if only to herself, that the display looked pretty damn good. Her autumn produce filled the stand to overflowing, nestled among homemade wreaths of wildflowers. True, some of the sweet gem berries were slightly blemished and the yams were shriveled, but the beets were gorgeous—and it had all started with a seed and a bit of dirt and somehow she had _grown_ them into something tangible, edible. Something she could sell and make a living on, even.

Something that might honor grandfather's memory and make the tattered remnants of her family proud.

Next to her, Pierre polished every cranberry and eggplant he set out on display. On her other side, Marnie lined up wheels of cheese and bundles of wool yarn next to casks of milk and eggs. The rancher brushed her graying brown hair from her eyes, caught Jen staring, and smiled.

"Your display is looking good, Jen."

Jen arched her eyebrows, glancing wordlessly at Pierre as he measured each eggplant, ensuring they were arranged precisely from smallest to largest.

" _Nobody_ tops Pierre's grange display," Marnie said, rolling her eyes and raising her voice so the shopkeep would be sure to hear her. "But you've got a lot of variety there for your first year."

Pierre smiled absently, still leaning over his produce with the ruler. "This is the best free advertising I get all year. Everything has to be perfect. Hmm. Have either of you seen Morris?"

"Morris?"

Marnie drew Jen away with a matronly pat on the arm and whispered, "The owner of the local JojaMart Franchise. They don't get on well."

"Well," Jen said with an exaggerated wince. "I can understand why. Joja is his main competition, right?"

"Lewis—that is, the Mayor—told me you used to work for JojaMart before you moved here."

"Ah, yes." Oh, the joys of small-town gossip. Surely no one wanted to hear about the hours she'd spent trapped behind a desk in a windowless room, ensconced in her cubicle—one among many of the labyrinth—its dark walls plastered with corporate notices. Or how she'd only taken the position because it paid the bills, and with the legal and hospital fees piling up, she'd been desperate. Or how somehow, once the bills were paid, she'd been sucked into the comfort of routine and stayed on five more tedious years. So she only said, "I worked at corporate headquarters for a few years. But I like the fresh air out here better."

Marnie nodded, eyes sparkling with repressed emotion as though she could sense that Jen wasn't telling the whole truth. "Well. If you ever need anything, _anything_ , just come down to my ranch." She touched a finger to one of the speckled, almost blue-tinged eggs rowed up beside the ears of corn. "I see the chickens have been laying—have you ever thought about raising sheep, making your own wool? There's quite a market for it."

"I haven't. That sounds…" Impossible. It sounded impossible. But so was the fact that Jen had inherited her grandfather's run-down farm and was now actually growing crops on it. And that she'd actually been considering getting into canning, to sell those goods with the fresh. The chickens were supposed to be a way to supplement her own diet, yet the idea of having her own supply of milk, cheese, and wool—and possibly selling the extra—needed exploring.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, still half-way unbelieving as she said, "I'm going to need a full blown barn, aren't I?"

Marnie laughed. "Have Robin build you a barn, and I'll get you started with whatever livestock you want. Hard work, but worth it."

"Contestants, contestants, gather round!"

Mayor Lewis, brandishing a clipboard, stepped out of the Fair's makeshift headquarters in the clinic. "Time for myself—and several anonymous townsfolk—to begin judging your displays. Please scatter for the next little bit. Enjoy yourselves, enjoy the Fair. And no peeking to see who the judges are!"

Jen resisted the urge to tweak her display one last time, and instead wandered through the pinstriped carnival tents. The breeze smelled of last night's rain shower and the musk of old leaves, biting enough for Jen to shrug on a jacket over her sweater as she peered across the crowded town square.

To her delight, the Fair hadn't changed since she'd visited her grandfather as a little girl. Back then, the Fair had been a magical surprise, and it hadn't lost its appeal twenty years later. Children laughed and screamed, running between the tent poles from game to game. Tourists perched on bales of hay, drinking pumpkin ale and eating pumpkin pie. The townsfolk—mostly familiar faces, now—operated concessions and display booths, all grinning at the turnout.

On instinct, she turned toward the field between the saloon and the river—and found the petting zoo right where she'd expected it to be.

A young boy and little girl crouched before the wire fence of the zoo, poking their fingers through the gaps, giggling, as a goat did its best to lick the packets of sweet feed from their grip. Until a chicken flew over, and ripped the packet from the girl's hands.

"Uncle Shane!" she wailed, and Jen wasn't quite sure if the girl was laughing or crying. "A chicken pecked my fingers!"

"Because your fingers look like tasty worms, Jas," Shane said with a laugh, and Jen's breath caught as she spotted the man leaning against the petting zoo fence.

He was dressed as casually as he'd been when he delivered the chickens to her farm, in jeans and a dark hoodie. Jen blushed, recalling the way his blue eyes had brightened, shyness obliterated by his surprising enthusiasm of inspecting the coop. There'd been something quite appealing about the way he'd talked to her dog and the chickens, offering them love without really thinking about it. Something easy about him, for once, something quiet and endearing despite his normal gruff exterior—an indefinable _something_ that was so attractive it made her palms sweat and banished her good sense long enough to invite a near-stranger into her house.

And he couldn't have run away from it fast enough.

 _Better with animals than with people_ , he'd said about Jas, but it was obvious that applied to himself as well. He might not be good with adults, but her stomach fluttered as he plucked the little girl from the ground and swung her to his shoulders. It was clear they liked being around one another; if she'd had a kid, if she'd had a spouse, she'd want them to share that sort of bond. But she didn't have either.

At least, not anymore.

"Look over here, Jas." Shane crouched so that Jas was at eye level with a rabbit hutch, and pointed at the pair of rabbits huddled within. "Would you want ears like that?"

"No. Rabbits are smelly," Jas said, crinkling her nose. "But—look! The rats came up to see me!" She hopped down his shoulders, and she and the little boy leaned close to the habitat containing a host of plump domesticated rats. All six of them pressed up against the bars, inviting the children's' attention.

The teenager minding the petting zoo stepped over, and asked the boy, "Do you want to pet them? Sir, can they—"

"Go ahead," Shane said, as the little boy reached into the cage. The rats sniffed his hand, and he scratched their ears for about two seconds before he burst into tears. Most of the rats scampered to the back of the cage, but one ran up his arm to settle on his shoulder.

Stunned, the little boy stroked the rat's long tail. And miraculously, he stopped crying.

"Jodi is going to freak if she sees that," a petite, copper-haired woman said, approaching from the mobile home near the river.

"Kid needs to live a little. Look at him. Besides, you can't stop a love like that."

"He's crying," she said, wincing. "And… it's a rat, of all things, Shane."

"Penny!" The boy cupped his hand over the rat's sleek body as he turned to the young woman. "Shane let me pet a rat and now I want one! It's so soft."

Shane slanted a look down at Penny that clearly said, _I told you so_ as she forced a smile.

"I can see that!" Penny scooped the rat from the boy's shoulder before passing it back to the waiting teen. "Let's get your hands washed, Vincent, and then we'll meet your mom for dinner and games. You too, Jas!"

"I like the chickens better," Jas informed her uncle with solemnity before prancing off after her friend.

Shane rubbed a hand through his dark hair as he watched them go. He held a finger up to the rat cage, letting their tiny paws inspect him as he sagged on a breath. He looked so relieved to be on his own, Jen almost turned around on the spot.

But in her moment of hesitation, he glanced up. And saw her. He tried to pretend he hadn't, but Jen knew had because he immediately looked down at his feet. She was quite certain that he would have fled into the saloon to avoid her if she hadn't been standing between him and its door.

Right. There was that nausea roiling, that same sickly anxiety that had plagued her after he'd informed her that it would be a bad idea to get to know one another. She shouldn't have taken it personally, she knew that. And yet, damned people pleaser that she was, here she was, drawn inexplicably back to him.

She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets as she approached, dusk drawing close around them. He met her halfway up the path, waiting in the edge of light cast down from one of the saloon's streetlamps. The shadows accentuated the curve of his jaw, the slant of his eyelashes across his cheeks as he looked down at her, face unreadable. Before he could shrug her off, she pulled one small egg from her pocket and held it out to him.

"I've found a dozen of these because of your help. I thought I'd give you the honor of having the latest Pixie-egg."

He glanced at the speckled egg, and damn her, when his lips curved in a smile, her racing heartbeat roared in her ears. "Keep it. For your omelet."

Jen grinned back, her nausea fading. He'd remembered. But he was looking down at his feet again, so Jen drew him out of his shell with, "Jas is your niece?"

"Oh. No." He started walking, winding his way through the tents toward the wood- and metal-working booths. Jen followed, intrigued, as he said, "She's my goddaughter. When Steph—her mom—got sick, and asked me to look after Jas if she didn't get better, I couldn't say no." He hesitated, then added, "Jas's been with me for a few years now."

"I'm sorry." Sickness. Hospitals. White-clad technicians coming to explain how the worst had happened. And it was unbelievable, so unbelievable that part of Jen still couldn't accept… what had happened. It took far too long for Jen to work enough moisture back in her mouth. In an attempt to lighten the mood she said, "Jas seems like a handful."

Shane snorted a laugh. "Yeah. Marnie is a lifesaver, she loves spoiling her. Jas spends a lot of time with Penny and Vincent, too. I'm glad she has friends."

"It's brave, to take on responsibility of a child like that. How old is she?"

"Turned six this past summer."

Memory punched Jen in the gut, stealing her breath. Six. Just a little older than—

"You alright?"

Jen blinked, realizing she'd stopped dead on the path. It took conscious effort to relax the muscles of her neck and shoulders, to clench her fists to keep from touching the scar running along her abdomen. She had to remind herself to unclench her jaw. "I'm—fine."

He studied her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, then shrugged. They drifted away from the crowds, winding up on the bridge leading down to the beach. Jen pulled herself up onto the wide stone railing, hugging her knees. The water rushed beneath them, drowning out the chatter of the Fair. Far off on the other side of the square, the Mayor still inspected the grange displays. And while the families with young children had retired inside, the teens and adults emerged to drink and revel under the bright starlight of a clear autumn night.

She drank in the experience like it was a vintage wine, simply happy to be part of the peace of it, even if on only on the periphery. A strange feeling, almost like belonging, crept over her. The Fair could be a part of her life. An annual event. Something to plan for and look forward to. She hadn't had something to look forward to in years.

She drew in a breath as it dawned on her that she and Shane hadn't spoken for some time. He could have asked her prying questions in exchange for what he'd revealed to her—people usually did, wanting to find out what had driven her from her life in the city or inspired her to reboot the farm. The past was a weight around her shoulders she didn't know if she could ever rid herself of, and no one seemed to care that, perhaps, she didn't want to be reminded of it. That, perhaps, it was painful.

When she glanced over at Shane, she found he was studying her. Yet when he eventually spoke, his question caught her totally off guard.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing down at the rushing water before straightening his shoulders and forcing himself to meet her eyes. "So. Want to get that drink? Gus sells a pumpkin ale just for the Fair. It's so popular it usually sells out. And, uh, you wouldn't want to miss it."

"Really?" Jen hopped down from her perch, grateful for the movement to kick warmth back into her limbs. Thankfully, he didn't know her well enough to hear the strain in her voice as she dragged herself back to the present. "I love pumpkin-flavored stuff. It's one of the best parts about the fall. I'm going to try baking pumpkin bread this weekend, I think."

He didn't smile, but he nodded once, clearly pleased as they meandered back through the crowd. They reached Gus' cart, where Shane ordered them each a bottle of the pumpkin ale. Jen rummaged in her jacket for gold, but Shane merely shrugged and put the drinks on his tab.

"I'll get the next round," she promised, nodding thanks to Gus as he cracked the top off her bottle and slid it over to her.

They sipped their ales in silence for a few moments before Shane cleared his throat and said, "If you have any extra pumpkins, I might have to buy one for Jas to carve for Spirit's Eve."

Jen's heart swelled. "Bring her by the farm whenever. She can pick out the one she wants."

"She'll like that. She's been wanting to visit Pixie and Mama Girl, but I didn't want to bother you."

She'd told him once that his presence wouldn't be a bother; apparently, he still didn't believe her. So she only shrugged and said, "It's nice to have company sometimes."

"It's just… people talk so much, you know? And most of it is so useless."

She knew. That gossip, that expectation and judgement… Jen had damned them all when she'd moved out here. She tapped the rim of her bottle to his in silent solidarity, and bought each of them a second ale, with a burger to help take the edge off the alcohol. Afterward, as they moved through the Fair together, peering into the carnival tents, they rarely spoke.

And Jen didn't mind at all.

* * *

Harvest bore down on her over the next few weeks until each day passed by in a haze of work and exhaustion. She rose early, pulled crops or cleared her overgrown fields, barely remembered to eat, and got too-little sleep, with such focused repetition that she lost track of the days of the week.

When she stumbled into the saloon at autumn's end, she found it bursting with people. The jukebox blared, and Jen had to wind around dancing couples to reach the bar. Pool balls snapped against one another in the gaming room as she ordered a plate of spaghetti with a glass of red wine. The noise buffeted her, keeping her planted firmly in the present even though all she wanted to do was eat something hot, take a steaming shower, then crash in bed to sleep for a week straight.

Emily, one of the bartenders, shook her head as she brought over Jen's meal. "You look done in!"

"Harvest. Grounds keeping. I'll rest in winter," Jen said with a wry smile, picking up her fork. The food was gone in five minutes, the wine following shortly after. In a blur of weariness, she paid for her meal and stumbled toward the door. She barely noticed Shane following her out into the icy drizzle.

"Hey, Jen," he said, catching up to her on the street. Whatever he'd been drinking had brightened his eyes and flushed his cheeks—and evidently given him the confidence to meet her gaze as he asked, "Would this be a bad time to swing by for that pumpkin?"

Though it was barely 9 pm, the last thing she wanted to do was delay crawling into bed. She hadn't even changed out of her work clothes before the need for dinner forced her off the farm; she barely had the energy to lift one booted foot before the other. She nodded down the path toward the farm as she kept walking, inviting him to come with her. "Doesn't she want to pick it out herself?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, but she's been down with the flu. Spirit's Eve is in a few days, and she needs a chance to get it carved."

"Spirit's Eve, already? Autumn has absolutely flown by."

He frowned, thoughtful. "Time never flies, for me."

He settled into silence as they followed the path to Briarly Farm, and Jen was too tired to draw him out of it. The icy drizzle had strengthened to the shadow of sleet before they reached the pumpkin patch. Nugget woofed at their approach, streaking down from her perch on the porch, just another dark blur among the shadows as she sniffed around their feet.

"This is the largest of them," Jen said, gesturing toward the most impressive pumpkin on the vine.

"It's pitch dark out here. Can't see a thing," Shane mumbled, bending to inspect it. Nugget charged him happily, tail wagging as she licked his neck and ear before he playfully fended her off.

"Nugget! Sorry," Jen said, handing him a pair of clippers. "Yeah, better lighting is on my winter to-do list. Better fencing, too. And a barn..."

He trimmed the pumpkin from its vine then stood, arms crossed, to survey the farm. "Doesn't it make you nervous living out here alone like this? Hell, I can't even see Marnie's ranch or the town lights from here."

Jen shrugged, and reached toward Nugget. Instantly the dog was there, inspecting Jen's hand, her warm muzzle and soft coat reassuring. "I've got the dog and good locks on the doors. Besides, it's not like this is the city."

"True. Barely anyone knows this town exists." He hefted the pumpkin to his shoulder, shifting his feet to stabilize its weight. "How much for this one?"

Jen waved away the thought of payment. "No charge. Hopefully it'll make Jas feel better. Are you really planning on walking with that all the way back? I have a wagon."

He glanced at the rusted Red Flyer lying on its side by the porch, and arched a dubious eyebrow. "I think I can manage without it."

"Your call." Jen sighed, mind heavy from the wine and the warm food. "Look—I hate to be rude, but I'm practically asleep on my feet and—"

His eyes widened, a blush tinging his cheeks. "Sure. No problem. Thanks for letting me swing by so late."

It must have been the delirium, or the confounded urge to soothe his obvious embarrassment and make up for her lack of hospitality, that made Jen reach out to take his hand. Squeezing it, she said, "Coffee next time you come by, alright?" And, standing on tiptoe, she pressed a kiss to his cheek—that, when he turned slightly, landed on the corner of his mouth.

His skin was warm on her lips, the stubble of his cheek rough. A faint whiff of beer clung to him. Still standing entirely too close to his warm body, she forgot about the sleet entirely as _want_ warmed her core and sent fire into her veins. But Shane only stared at her, as stunned as she, as she slipped her hand from his.

For a brief moment, as she retreated to the porch, she let herself fantasize about him following her up the steps, taking her hand to lead her inside and then—

Of course, he didn't. He might not have even if she asked him to—it was entirely too soon, too forward. Yet as she fumbled with the door lock, heart pounding, he called after her. "See you on Spirit's Eve?"

She got the door open. Muzzy warmth enveloped her as she crossed the threshold, and she smiled over her shoulder at him. "Yeah, see you then."

Dizzy, she shut the door and locked it. And was certain she hadn't imagined him smiling slightly as he turned to walk across the dark fields.


	3. Chapter 3

Three

The afternoon sun shone flat and low in a monotonous gray sky, seeping through the glass ceiling of the spa as Shane floated, lifeless, in the depths of the pool. The heart-hammering need to suck down air slowly faded as he recovered from thirty inefficient, sputtering minutes of swimming laps.

But he'd done it.

Despite his burning lungs, the heated water relieved the ache winter had blown into his right knee. He lingered in the warmth, carefully testing the old injury. The scars running up either side of the knee were fading, but damn it if the joint didn't do a fine job of announcing every change in the weather. Even soothed by the heat, it was slightly stiff as he rinsed off, changed, and braced himself for the numbing, invigorating outdoor cold.

He strolled south, back into the town proper, feeling deliciously loose and fluid from the workout—slightly buzzed, almost. Yet no matter how good he felt now, he fell into the same trap every time: swim enough to finally start feeling better, enough to feel he deserved those easy nights at the saloon, then forget about swimming for weeks on end. Gridball had been the only consistent, positive thing he'd had growing up, the one thing he'd dedicated energy and focus to with an iron will.

Apparently, the trauma and fallout from his injury had wrecked more than just his knee, and stolen more than just his ability to play. Before had been great; _after_ was nothing but disappointment _._

"But _this_ time," he muttered aloud. This time he'd stick with the workouts and physical therapy. He held his current swimmers-high in his mind, knowing he'd need to use it as ammunition tomorrow, when he'd have to ignore the allure of the comfortable, quiet saloon and a cold beer in front of the warm hearth.

And even if it meant having to walk through the snow to the spa, he vowed to make the trip at least two days a week until Cindersap lake was warm enough to swim in.

Two trips a week. Only eight weeks til summer. Sixteen trips. He could do that.

His problem was that _could_ didn't always mean _would_.

* * *

He crossed by the old community center and cut down through the park, keeping out of the way of the folk frantically preparing the square for the Spirit's Eve festivities. He'd dropped Jas and her smirking jack-o-lantern off at Vincent's for a sleep-over earlier, on his way up to the spa. It grinned wildly at him now from Jodi's front porch as he walked by. He peered through the gleaming front room windows, half-expecting to find Jas waving at him; but this late in the afternoon, Jodi had likely gotten Jas down for pre-festival "quiet time".

He glanced at his watch. 5 pm, plenty of time to get cleaned up and scrounge something for dinner before Spirit's Eve kicked off. His stomach tightened, again, as he asked himself what the hell he'd been thinking, setting a meet-up with Jen.

… almost like a date.

Suddenly, he wanted to throw up. She'd kissed him, and he'd almost— _almost_ —kissed her back. He'd barely stopped himself. Indecision bubbled in his stomach, making him even more queasy. He wanted to see her again, and yet he wasn't sure if he could face her; he didn't know what to _do_. It wasn't the actual physical stuff that worried him—he'd dated plenty once upon a time—it was just the the _time_. He'd never been so drawn to someone so quickly, and good ol' fashioned lust was snarling his thoughts.

Because the simple truth was that Shane had wanted Jen since the moment she'd asked him inside for coffee, that day he'd brought her chickens. Even though he still barely knew her, he burned with it. Memory of her standing shrouded by mist on the pier and framed in sunlight in the chicken coop twined itself into fantasies that snaked, unbidden, into his dreams. More than once he'd awoken in the middle of the night, flushed, panting and as hard as a rock. His thoughts were too intense, too fast. And yet—there they were.

With Steph—with her, it had been the familiarity that comforted him. He'd always been a bit of an afterthought for her, just a neighbor and a constant friend as she dealt with with Jas' good-for-nothing dad. Steph would crawl into Shane's room via the fire escape of their apartment building to let off steam whenever she'd been in crisis. And Steph had _lived_ in crisis… another irresistible trap. Still, he'd taken the scraps she'd given him and thought it was love, when really each of them was just using the other as a placeholder for something… _something_...

Not that it mattered. The cancer struck hard and lingered long, and Jas was all he had left of Steph now. He still saw Steph in Jas' face, in her stubbornness, but being out of the city had shaped Jas into a kinder, softer, somehow more resilient being than her mother had been. Jas would grow up caring about other creatures, and not just herself. It was probably the one good decision he'd made in the last few years, bringing Jas out here.

But Jen. That burning. Maybe not a good decision. If he'd dodged her kiss, this could all have been avoided—

Except _that_ was nothing but a lie, because this wasn't just lust. He wondered about her, wondered where she was when she got that faraway look in her eyes, and why she'd come to Stardew Valley, and whether _she_ liked chickens more than rats and if she'd ever gotten the hang of fishing, and that led to—standing there and letting her take his hand and kiss him and wanting more of all of it.

He gripped his hair in his fists, silently commanding his heart rate to slow. He wasn't going to spiral into a panic. He'd get home, have a relaxing shower, have a drink to unwind, and be fine.

But as though his thoughts had summoned her, Jen's laugh drifted down the lane between Marnie's ranch and Leah's cottage. And there she was, her bright red sweater drawing his eye to where she sat atop Leah's split-rail fence. Leah leaned against it from within her yard, shading her eyes as she grinned up at the farmer, sharing a joke. Jen's little supplies wagon rested, forgotten and empty, near Marnie's front porch.

He forced himself not to stare as he bee-lined to the front door, and found it locked. He flushed, wondering if they were laughing at _him._ He imagined Jen telling Leah that she'd kissed him on a whim and he'd just stood there as dumb as a rock. Leah would murmur that a half-broke stocker at JojaMart wasn't worth Jen's time...

He fumbled his keys from his pocket, cracked the door—and told himself to get a grip. Jen wasn't the type to gossip, and even if she was, Leah wasn't the type to judge. He pulled the door shut again before squaring his shoulders and striding over to the two women.

He forced himself to speak first, and made his gaze touch on both of their faces as he said, "Hi."

Leah and Jen glanced over at him, friendly. They looked fairly alike, except Leah wore her slightly-redder hair in one long braid thrown over her shoulder, and today Jen's sun-streaked hair hung unbound down her back. Leah waved, diminutive and waif-thin, almost insubstantial under her heavy winter coat. But her sunny attitude was always an unexpected departure from her starving-artist-woodswoman persona, and her smile lit up her face as she greeted him.

"Hey Shane."

Leah had one of those quiet voices that made him go still, and lean in to listen. He ran his hands along the peeling wood of the whitewashed fence, uncomfortable at being under her intense gaze. Still, his own aloofness never seemed to bother Leah, giving him the courage to glance between the two women and ask Jen, "Were you waiting for Marnie? She's already gone to town to set up for tonight."

"What? No," Jen groaned good-naturedly, and slid down from the fence. Her face was paler than the last time he'd seen her, almost wan, and dark circles marred the skin under her eyes. She rubbed a hand across her forehead as though soothing a headache. "I really need to buy some hay. My feeder's busted. I probably mis-loaded it or something."

"Oh. I can help you with that," Shane said, grateful—for once—for JojaMart's training; the acquiescing sentence sprang to mind from rote memory, smashing his nervousness. "At least—I can get you the hay. Marnie might have to help with the feeder."

"Well, I should go inside." Leah said, pushing off the fence with a curious glance between them. "I just remembered I left my potluck for tonight in the oven. You two have fun."

"See you tonight, Leah," Jen said with a little wave as they watched the reedy woman cross her neatly-manicured lawn. She turned toward Shane, hugging herself. She smiled at him and nodded toward the ranch. "Shall we?"

Shane led Jen through the front hall into Marnie's small shop off the kitchen, ushering her in before him before he shut the door against the rising wind. Marnie's flower-patterned curtains hung open, letting the weak natural light illuminate the room. A charred log lay smoldering in the fireplace, lending a little warmth to the otherwise lifeless house. Being in the house alone with Jen suddenly made the homey, comfortable space feel damnably small. He cleared his throat to break the tension slowly winding its way up from his belly.

"So, you just need the hay?" Shane asked, stepping around the business counter.

"Yeah. Four bales or so will hold me over for a few days. That's all I can cart up on the wagon, anyway."

He winced as he inspected the ancient cash register, tentatively punching its worn keypad to ring up her purchase. It was so old that half of the screen cut out, leaving him unsure if the commands he punched in were even accurate. "To be honest, I never use this thing. Might be better for me just to leave a note for Marnie."

She laughed. "Whatever's best."

He loved her laugh, even if it made his stomach clench more painfully. "I can get the hay loaded for you, though. It's just—" The phone chimed from its holster on the kitchen wall. "One sec."

Before he reached the phone, it cut to voicemail.

"Shane?" Marnie's breathless voice rang out from the answering machine. "I know this is last minute, but I think I'll be staying in town tonight." At Lewis' no doubt, Shane thought with a shake of the head. "If you could check on everyone in the barn before coming to town, I'd really appreciate it. I milked all the girls before I left, so they'll be good until tomorrow. Can you top off feed and water and make sure everyone is tucked in? I'm just worried it'll snow." Marnie thanked him preemptively and rang off.

Shane glanced again at his watch. It'd be dark soon, and running around after dark to corral errant livestock was low on his list of life pleasures. He turned back toward the little shop, but found Jen hovering in the doorway of the kitchen as though hesitant to enter the house proper without an invitation.

"I've gotta run out and check the animals before it gets dark. Do you mind waiting in here a few minutes before I grab that hay?"

"Actually," Jen said, lifting a finger in inspiration. "Marnie promised me a tour. I can help you with the animals if you show me how. Make it go faster?" She smiled, slightly. "Besides, I need the practice. I made enough from harvest to have Robin start on my barn next week."

"Really?" Shane lifted his gaze to hers in surprise. The intensity of it seared him, sending his glance skittering off again toward the back door. "Sure."

He brought her through into the barn, a long corridor lined with indoor-outdoor stalls, their outer doors thrown open to give the animals access to shared pasture. Heaters worked overtime at each end of the long hall, and the swinging overhead lights battled the gathering dusk. The scent of hay and manure and _cow_ soothed him as he gave Jen a brief overview of how Marnie had set up the barn.

"So we've got the cows, goats, and sheep in here. Chickens, ducks, and pigs are through the next section, and horses a little farther on." He waved his hand at a set of closed double-doors at the far end of the hall before ducking into an alcove loaded with bags of feed set atop wooden pallets. "This is the feed room. Feed buckets are labeled by species. Give a scoop of the right mixture into each bucket while I get the stall doors closed and do a headcount, then I'll help you with hay—it's usually two flakes per stall. Make sure the grain bucket gets closed up tight or else the birds and rodents will get into it. Alright?"

Jen was already reaching for the feed scoop, face so scrunched with determination that he almost smiled. "Right."

One goat refused to come inside without hefty bribery of sweet feed, but he managed to close up the barn before full dark. By the time they were finished with the hay, he was freezing and beyond simply hungry. Somehow, despite the work, Jen never let the conversation lull; she asked him so many questions it was dizzying, and he gave up with a laugh after showing her how to check the automatic water heaters built into each water trough.

"I'm not sure where Marnie bought those little heaters. You'll have to pick her brain some time. She knows all these little tricks and cures—" He broke off as his stomach gave a painful, long, and ridiculously loud growl.

"Hungry?" Jen asked, glancing at him sidelong and clearly trying not to laugh.

"Just a little," he said, suppressing a smile. Christ, he hadn't smiled so much in _years_. "Marnie made a huge mystery casserole for the festival and there's lots of leftovers. You're welcome to have some—it's the least we can do after you helped with the chores."

"Anything hot sounds divine right now. Are we supposed to bring a potluck to Spirit's Eve?" Jen asked as she copied him and pulled her muddied boots off at the back door. "I didn't make anything."

"After they run you out of town on a rail," he said, struggling to keep a straight face, "I promise I'll try to talk Lewis into un-banishing you. I don't know if he'll bend, though; forgetting to make a potluck is practically a felony."

She rolled her eyes at him, grinning, then bent over the sink to wash her hands. "See if I save you any of whatever _wonderful_ dish I make for the next festival."

"Just don't forget that I'm partial to spicy things," he suggested, then dodged as she threw the dish rag at him.

They brought their plates of casserole into what would have been the living room in any other home. Here, bales of hay were stacked nearly to the ceiling next to boxes of supplies Marnie intended to sell. The fire still burned warm in the hearth as they sat cross legged before it with their plates on their laps. Shane was so hungry that he finished his whole plate in mere minutes, before leaning forward to prod life back into the flames.

He had the fire back to a roar before he realized Jen was watching him. She leaned against the wall, one arm propped on a bale of hay, head tilted back, eyelids heavy as though she were on the cusp of drifting to sleep. And she looked… She looked like she liked what she saw while watching him.

Shane cleared his throat, hoping that she thought it was the fire heating his cheeks. "Do you want a drink? We've got cola, beer, wine…"

"Something with caffeine would be best," she said, her voice idle. Comfortable. "Otherwise I'll never make it to the festival."

"Good point."

Marine's leftover breakfast coffee had boiled down nearly to a sludge. He tossed it down the sink, and brewed a small, fresh pot that quickly filled the house with its fragrance. He had the presence of mind to grab a shot-glass of cream and a handful of sugar packets before he brought out the steaming mug of coffee.

"I have no idea if I put the right amount of grounds in, but I tried to make it strong," he admitted as he passed it to her.

She took a testing sip, and her eyes went wide. "This is just what I need." Still, she didn't seem inclined to move even with the infusion of caffeine, so he left her alone to sip her drink before the fire while he went to take a shower.

A very _cold_ shower.

When he was done, he found her sleeping by the fire, out cold with her hands still encircling her empty coffee mug. He tugged it from her fingers as gently as he could and tucked a blanket around her shoulders. And then, possessed by some sort of competitive need to balance the scales between them, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The memory of her warmth stung his lips as he sat back against the bale of hay next to her. He stared unseeingly at the fire for who knew how long, heart hammering in his chest as his thoughts whirled and obsessed over Jen.

And for the first time in half a dozen years, an ember of hope flared to life within the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Four

The wind roared, rattling the windows.

Closer, fire crackled and popped over wood, pulling Jen from sleep. She blinked into the darkened room, comforted by the mingling scents of hay and wood smoke. The hearth warmed her back, but she gathered the blanket to her chest as she pushed herself to her feet, trying to remember where she was.

The empty coffee cup discarded on the mantle brought her back to her senses. Dark stacks of hay loomed around her. Moonlight drifted through heavy snow clouds, penetrating the thin curtains to highlight the whorls of ice forming fractals on the window pane.

"Shane?"

In the distance, he cleared his throat. "I'm in here."

She followed the jingle of an 8-bit melody into a back room. His bedroom, she realized with a faint flush of awareness, noting the dark rumpled sheets of the full-size bed centered under the window. An entertainment center sat caddy-corner to the bed, the television's light bleeding onto Shane where he sat cross-legged on a shabby couch, game controller nestled in his hand. Jen grinned at the fanfare of the classic adventure-style video game before he paused it and got awkwardly to his feet.

She leaned against the door frame, wishing she could melt into it and disappear. The embarrassment of falling asleep practically mid-conversation was so consuming she felt like a forge fire was roasting her alive. She'd napped too long, spurring a headache that slowed her thoughts. Still, she couldn't suppress her smile as she said,

"I feel the need to point out that I don't normally fall asleep on people's living room floors."

He shrugged, tossing the game controller onto the couch cushions. "You looked pretty wiped. I didn't want to wake you up. I mean—shit."

"I'll take it as a reminder," she said, laughing, "to work smarter and not harder next harvest, or I'll never survive."

"It's a lot of work for one person."

"One person and a dog," she corrected, and he grinned.

"Right." He played with the zipper on his dark jacket, the movement drawing Jen's eye to his tidier-than-normal appearance. Not only had he showered and shaved, but he'd changed into clean jeans and jacket… making her all too aware that she looked and smelled like she'd just been rolling around in a barn.

She ran her hands back through her hair, doing her best to straighten the tangled waves before twisting them up and out of the way into a bun. "I feel a little underdressed for the festival, to be honest," she said abruptly. "I'd meant to go home and wash up beforehand."

"You still can, it doesn't start til 10 pm. It's barely past 9 now."

"Walk with me?"

Jen blamed her fuzzy brain for the way the question came out: with far too much _suggestion_. It was just that he'd been so lighthearted out in the barn, like when he was busy working with his hands or dealing with the animals, he forgot to be nervous. And _damn_ he'd looked sexy kneeling down before the fireplace earlier, spurring its embers into flame. She felt herself blushing again, and busied herself with shaking out the blanket and neatly folding it so she wouldn't have to watch him weighing her words, possibly over-analyzing her tone the way she was now.

"Sure," he said gruffly, holding his hand out for the blanket, his gaze fixed on its stripes. "I'll help cart up the hay you bought, and see if I can figure out what's wrong with the feeder."

"Technically," she said with mock-seriousness, "I haven't bought the hay yet."

His eyes flashed up to hers, stubborn humor burning in them as he demanded, "Do you want my help or not?"

She shrugged, outwardly nonchalant as that fire burned her up from the inside. "Of course I do."

* * *

The wagon groaned under the weight of the hay, accented by the rhythmic squeaking from the back right wheel that Jen kept forgetting to oil. It serenaded the light silence between them as they lugged the wagon up the bumpy path to the coop, each with a grip on the rusty handle.

"Let's park it by the coop door," Jen said, angling off the path to the darkened coop. "The feeder's just inside."

"I'll get it," he said, steering the wagon to a rest beside the still-not-painted coop wall. He straightened, swiping a hand through his wind-blown hair as he contemplated the problem he seemed dead determined to fix. "The feeder's connected to the silo?"

Jen crossed her arms, hugging herself against the night. "No silo yet, that's coming with the barn. For now I've just got a small hopper."

"Okay." He unloaded the bales of hay with an easy, practiced strength, shouldering open the coop's door to set them down inside. He definitely had muscle on that bulky frame—and, God, now she was imagining what his arms and shoulders and chest looked like beneath the concealing jacket he always wore. If he noticed her probing stares, he didn't let on as he grinned sheepishly and said, "I'm no mechanic or whatever, but if it's only jammed I might be able to fix it."

"Thanks. I'll be right back." As she retreated up toward the house, the light clicked on in the coop behind her. Faintly, she heard Shane greet the chickens with a bright, "Hey girls," that had Jen grinning stupidly as she fed Nugget, started a pot of coffee, and took the fastest shower she was capable of. Since he'd clearly made an effort to dress up for the occasion, Jen pulled on her nicest jeans and a thick cashmere sweater that brought out the color of her eyes, before twisting her damp hair into a braid and tucking it under a beanie to keep it out of the way.

All under fifteen minutes flat. Not bad.

The coop's light blinked out as she crossed the frosted lawn, Nugget on her heels. She found Shane leaning in the open door, Mama Girl nestled under his arm. The bird cooed softly as he scratched her back, not really aware he was doing it. He looked a little lost in thought, watching snow white cloud slide before the moon, but when he noticed her coming he let the chicken launch herself back into the rafters.

"I promised you coffee the next time you came by," Jen said, pressing a mug into his hands before leaning against the door frame opposite him, cradling her own warm cup. "Did you figure out what was wrong with the feeder?"

"Thanks." He took a sip before answering. "I think so. It just got clogged with a flake of hay."

She grinned in triumph. "I knew you could fix it."

"Ah, you put too much faith in me."

The dry comment fell somewhat flat, and Jen wasn't sure if it was a joke or if he really meant it. She chewed her inner lip, wondering how to respond or even whether she should—and the longer it took her to answer the more ridiculous she knew whatever she came up with would sound. In the end, Jen settled on copying Shane, sipping her coffee and watching the starlight peaking through the clouds in silence.

Behind her, the chickens shuffled in the darkness, clucking softly as they settled back down for the night. Moon shadow streaked over her barren fields, the small ice-covered lakes, and the forest she had yet to tame. Everything was so still, so silent but for the faint rustling of the bare trees. And it was so miserably cold, she could almost imagine that she heard snowfall out in the dark.

She _loved_ it here. And it was all hers.

And she was grinning like a fool. She glanced aside to see if Shane had noticed. He had; of course he had, he'd been watching her. Blushing, she took a long drink of her now-lukewarm coffee.

"This is good stuff," he said after a moment, hefting his half-empty mug. "Did you buy it at Pierre's?"

"The coffee? No, it's a specialty type I order online." It embarrassed her to admit that, and she added, "My one luxury. I save it for weekends and special occasions. Or when I've promised a neighbor coffee and I'm trying to make a good impression."

"Well," he said, tilting his head back to drain his mug, but she could tell he was smiling. "It worked."

"Good." She gripped the mug tighter, suddenly feeling out of her depth. "So. Do you want to walk into town for the festival?"

It was the wrong thing to say. His shoulders stiffened, then slumped slightly, but he brought his chin up as he said, "If that's what you want to do."

She didn't, actually, and for once she didn't feel pressured to go along with what she thought anyone else expected of her. It was a relief to realize it, to shrug and admit, "Actually, I don't know if I want to be around all those people." He didn't say anything, just glanced at her, and she thought maybe the heavy peace, the quiet, had settled over him as well. "I do want to get us some more coffee, though." She held out a hand for his empty cup, but he raised it above her head.

"You're not a waitress. I'll come with you."

"You brought me mine earlier, back at the ranch."

He jerked it higher. "Which means we're square."

"I don't mind. Besides, my house is a mess." She reached for the mug, jumping to hook a finger over its rim. She forced his arm down with a laugh that was cut short as he pitched forward in the doorway, off balance. Then somehow, both mugs were in the dirt and her hands were on his chest and arm to stabilize him, and the only thoughts winking through her brain were how close and sturdy and _warm_ he was—

His arms hung loosely at his sides as though he wasn't sure what to do with his hands, but he didn't step back, and she didn't push away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to knock you over," she said, following his gaze down to the mugs she'd dropped.

"Just my weak knee," he said softly. "It's fine. But I guess that's a no-go on those refills."

Standing so close to him boosted her heart rate and mind into overdrive, and she blurted, "I don't think I want coffee anymore."

He looked at her for so long, her stomach swooped, then tightened with an intimate heat that washed up her spine and out to her fingertips, lifting goosebumps on her skin. He settled his hands on her waist, and she shivered as his fingertips pressed into her back. For all it felt like they were holding each other at bay, Jen wished she was bold enough to take the one step closer to him. Nervousness and adrenaline raged through her, feeding off of each other as he asked,

"What _do_ you want?"

And—God—how long had it been since anyone had asked her _that_? She wasn't one for one-night stands, hadn't dated casually in ages—but if there was one thing her mistake of a marriage had taught her, it was to be honest with what she was feeling and thinking. She'd learned the lesson years too late, but now...

She drew in a trembling breath full of the eucalyptus scent of his shaving soap. Start slowly. Simply. "I'm thinking that I want to kiss you."

His cheeks reddened again, but the heated look in his eyes let Jen know they were on the same page. "Okay."

She stepped closer, letting her hand slide up his arm to his shoulder. Vaguely, she noted the firm muscle beneath her fingertips, but the heat of his body against hers was utterly distracting as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He met her halfway, ducking his head so that his lips came down hard on hers in a feverish kiss that was far from gentle. It tasted of coffee and that undefinable _him_.

Heart racing, she opened herself to it, deepening the kiss. She pulled him toward her, wanting more, and as though his shyness had vanished with their restraint, he pressed her up against the door jamb, pinning her body gently beneath his.

So close, there was no hiding his attraction to her. She ground against it, swallowing his groan of pleasure as a jolt of pure desire shot up her spine. She ground against him again, focusing the tension on that apex of her nerves, relishing the way she could make him shudder at her touch.

Damn it, she wanted him, right there in the doorway as a sweep of snow began to fall—but then a gust of wind blasted against the door so hard it rebounded off the wall and nearly came off its hinges. The chickens screeched, flinging feathers, and Jen and Shane jumped apart as icy snowflakes cascaded down between them, guilty like a pair of teenagers that had just gotten caught fondling each other on the basement couch.

"We, um." His swiftly-stifled smile made Jen lean into him again, and run her hands up his back so that his voice rumbled through her as he said, "We should get the coop closed up. We're letting all the heat out."

Jen buried her face against his chest to smother her laughter. Of course they were. Of course they should. But nothing made sense except for the fact that she wanted to kiss him again, and damn the cold.

She never moved this fast, with anyone. Maybe it felt good with him simply because they weren't bogged down by years of history; it was fresh and exciting, and utterly wrapped up in this new life she was trying so hard to build for herself. Despite all the things he hadn't said, the things she didn't know—yet—there was something steady and sure about him, buried under his own uncertainty. He might not be able to see it, but she could, and it pulled at her.

And, there wasn't any need to rush, aside from her own impatience. Her experience on the farm had taught her that when she tried to rush things, she usually ended up ruining them. She could nurture a seed, give it fertilizer and sunlight and everything else it needed, but it would only grow as fast as nature let it.

She forced herself to release his shirt, damning reason as she stepped out of the circle of his arms. He frowned as as he let her go. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No." Honesty, openness. That was the key. "I'm just a little… overwhelmed. A little scared, you know? I don't mean that I'm scared of you," she added quickly as he raised his eyebrows. "Just… it's been a long time since I did anything like this."

"Me too," he said, blushing, and Jen wasn't sure if he meant the timing or the nervousness, or both. "I don't think it's a bad thing."

"It's not." She reached behind him to shut the coop door. As she inspected the lock, he tucked a flyaway lock of her hair back under her beanie. The glancing touch made her shiver, and she closed her eyes. Her head spun, so light it could have floated off her shoulders. She smiled and asked him, "Kiss me again?"

"Jen?" His fingers traced her face. "You look pale."

The feverish weakness swept over her in a hot rush that left her slumped against him. She blinked against the dark specs swarming through her vision. Shane's concerned face peered at her through the gray static of snow—a moment before she vomited nearly on his shoes, and her world went dark.

* * *

Jen loathed the common cold. She detested congestion, the runny nose and sticky eyes, the inevitable sore throat. The need to sleep upright or not at all because laying down meant she couldn't breathe. The weakness of her body and the way her head never stopped spinning.

The nausea was worse.

Usually, when she felt the sickness creeping over her, she could stave it off with a day of rest. She'd felt it coming on for days now, and had been mentally pushing it off. _Just a few more days. Just need to get through harvest_. And now that winter had blown in, her body, at last, had caved.

Aside from one last meeting with Robin before the carpenter began building the barn beside the chicken coop, Jen wallowed in bed. She slept through Robin's hammering and sawing, so drained that the noise reverberating within her own skull couldn't keep her awake.

But when she wasn't better by Wednesday, her vomiting hadn't subsided, and her cough had developed a painful rattle in her chest, she crawled out of bed and into Dr. Harvey's office.

Dr. Harvey pursed his lips, wrinkling his blonde mustache as he pressed the cold stethoscope to Jen's chest. He was young for the prestige of being the town's only doctor, younger than she'd expected. Mid-thirties, maybe, and fit in a way that, ironically, few doctors allowed themselves time to be. He shifted the head of the stethoscope under her thin linen gown, first over her chest then over her back, listening hard.

"I suspect," he said slowly, pushing back on his wheeled stool. "That you've developed walking pneumonia, _on top_ of catching the flu that's sweeping through town. I want to take some thoracic rads—x-rays of your chest—to make sure."

Jen nodded. She'd guessed as much. She cleared her throat as she tightened the linen robe around her shoulders. "You can talk to me normally. I, um. I used to be married to a surgical resident. So I'm familiar with a lot of the medical terminology."

He let a flicker of surprise break the calm clinician's facade, just a slight upward twitch of his eyebrows. But all he said was, "Oh. Alright. Well, if the rads do confirm walking pneumonia, I'll prescribe you some antibiotics to help clear up your lung infection, coupled with an anti-viral pack for that flu. Probably a cough suppressant too. But mostly you'll need to rest and lots of fluids, like you said you're already doing. You're pretty dehydrated from the vomiting and GI issues; probably a good idea to boost you up with IV fluids and electrolytes after we take your rads."

"I think I just pushed myself too much. Ignored what my body was telling me. With the harvest," she attempted to explain, painfully aware she was rambling.

"Probably. But there's nothing like a small town flu." He hid a slight smile, then absentmindedly flicked his pen through his fingers before turning toward his computer. "I'm still waiting on your records from the city hospital. Any major illnesses I should know about in the meantime? Allergies to medications? Any surgeries, or current prescriptions?

Jen shrugged. "Only major surgery was a hysterectomy five years ago, and then I went on anti-depressants for a year. I'm not on anything now."

Again the flicker of surprise, and he glanced down to check her chart. She didn't blame him; she still could barely wrap her own head around the fact that she no longer had a uterus. "You're twenty-seven?"

"Twenty-seven, yep." She shrugged, the only defense she had. It was strange to talk about it out loud, to admit to this part of her life that she was trying to leave behind her. But she'd always had a thing about being overly-honest with doctors. That was probably how she wound up married to one at barely twenty years old. "It wasn't planned. Hence the antidepressants."

"I see." He swiveled on the stool, turning away from the computer to give her his undivided attention. "And the surgery itself... was it for a tumor or… trauma?"

"Trauma." Jen touched a finger to the abdominal scar and blinked back the unshed tears. Her hands shook, but she prided herself for keeping her voice smooth and emotionless as she explained, "Pregnancy complications. Botched emergency C-section, actually. Long story."

"I'm sorry." He watched her for a moment before drawing in a long breath and offering a sympathetic smile. Jen hated that smile; it's all that doctors could ever think to do to try to comfort her. But nothing was truly comforting, except maybe the impossibility of forgetting. "Let's snap your rads, then you can get changed."

Pierre's was closed, but even it it hadn't been, Pierre didn't stock the drugs that Dr. Harvey prescribed for her. Even with a starter dose of cough suppressant in her system, the winter snow and cold ravaged her throat and lungs as she slogged across the river to JojaMart.

She pulled items off the shelf in an unthinking haze as she made her way to the pharmacy in the back corner of the store. All JojaMart's were identically arranged, and it was a matter of minutes to find the handful of supplies she needed while the pharmacy filled her prescription: soup, electrolytes, orange juice, tissues, crackers, cough drops. She stared at the wall of over-the-counter cold medicines, throwing some Vitamin C and multivitamins into her cart on a whim. And a pack of stick-on heat packs for sore muscles and joints, on the off-chance it could help Shane with whatever was wrong with his knee.

And… condoms. Blushing, she tipped a box into her cart and buried it beneath the mundane. _Just in case_ , she thought, scurrying back toward the pharmacy counter. It wasn't like buying the condoms _decreed_ something. It didn't guarantee sex or even a relationship. It was just the potential for worry-free freedom if she chose it. And _why_ was she continuing to justify this to herself? She was a grown woman, damn it.

"Can you ring this up here?" she asked, gesturing to her cart after the pharmacy tech scanned out her prescriptions and reminded her of their potential side effects.

"Wish I could," the dark-haired woman behind the counter said with a wince. "We empty this register an hour before closing."

"Oh, right." Jen dropped the white paper bag of drugs in her cart next to her coin purse. "Thanks anyway."

She wound her way back to the front of the store. Snow piled up around the edges of the windows, blotting out whatever weak sunlight made it through the heavy snowfall. Only one register was manned, and Jen let the snow distract her as she waited for Jodi, accompanied by Vincent, to finish checking out before her.

"Do you want us to wait, Sam, and walk back with you?" Jodi asked the young blond man behind the register. "Store's about to close."

"Nah, that's alright," Sam said with a shrug, handing her receipt. "I'm going to meet Seb and Abby after work. We may go into the city for dinner."

"Alright. Drive safely in the snow." Jodi kissed her fingertips then pressed them to Sam's forehead.

" _Mom_ ," he hissed, looking around. "My boss hates PDA at work."

"Oh please, I'm your mother," she said, hiding a devious smile, then lifted Vincent from his seat in the cart. "Call if you'll be very late."

He rolled his eyes as Jen loaded her goods onto the counter's conveyer belt. "I think she forgets I'm twenty now," he muttered around a bashful smile. "Hi, farmgirl. Need anything else? Bagged ice, cigarettes?"

"Just all this, thanks," Jen said, stepping around the counter to help bag up her items.

"Nah, you don't have to do that, we're a full-service shop," Sam said, then bent down to whisper, "If my boss sees you bagging, I'll get written up."

"Your boss sounds like a tyrant," she said lightly. "Typical JojaMart, right?"

Sam flashed her a grin. "It'll pay for college, so I can't complain."

Truthfully, it was a relief to stand still, letting Sam ring her up and shove everything into sturdy canvas bags. The floor shifted beneath her feet and blackness edged her vision again, but she held out her hands for the bags with a smile on her face; it would take more than walking pneumonia, the flu, and twenty pounds of groceries to defeat her.

At least, that's what she told herself, until her body and bravado betrayed her on the bridge.


	5. Chapter 5

Five

At first, Shane thought that third beer must be getting to him.

He turned from the bar, leaning back into his regular spot at the hearth of the Stardrop Saloon with the delicious floating lightness of a solid buzz. It'd been—well, it'd been a typical Wednesday. Rough not because the weekend was tantalizingly close, but because Wednesday was Morris' unholy creation: Inventory Day. A whole day spent under the flat light of the storeroom counting the goods he'd have to load onto the shelves tomorrow never left Shane in a positive mood. The trade-offs for not having to deal with customers—the weary eyes, the hunched back—lingered with him into the saloon, where he could finally wash them away.

Another thing about Wednesdays: Jen didn't frequent the saloon on Wednesdays. An observation he wasn't even conscious of until he found himself staring, surprised, at her corner table across the dim room.

But it wasn't the beer conjuring fantasies to life. In Shane's fantasies, the saloon would be empty except for the two of them. And Jen definitely wouldn't walk in on Sebastian's arm.

Shane tensed, pressing his shoulders into the rough stone hearth so the bricks' hard edges etched into his skin, and sipped his beer as Sebastian took the chair opposite Jen. It was hard to read her mood, to tell whether this was a chance meeting, or some sort of plan. Her eyes sparkled the way they always did, but despite her smiles, she seemed somehow deflated, her movements depleted of her normal energy. Sebastian lit a cigarette and took a long drag before settling it in the corner of his smirk. Neither of them ordered a drink.

Jen shrugged out of her winter coat, clearly using the movement as an excuse to lean away from the smoke of Sebastian's cigarette. Shane looked deliberately away as Sebastian leaned intimately forward and said something that made her laugh. If Shane focused hard enough on the bell over the saloon door, maybe he wouldn't glare a hole into the back of Sebastian's perfect hair. Though the younger man was slender and pale, as he settled back into his chair, his puffy winter jacket blocked Jen from view.

Jen, the woman he'd kissed—or who had kissed him—not even a week ago. He clenched his fists as he remembered holding her waist, and the way she'd pressed against him, how it all had felt…

And now he was watching her make friends with confident, successful Sebastian, and—Shane was such an idiot.

He stood abruptly, feeling as though he ought to be doing _something_ , but butting into the conversation between Jen and Sebastian felt, somehow, too possessive. Like a move he might have brazenly pulled off when he was young and full of first-string swagger, but when looking back was definitely the mark of an asshole. He bailed to the bar, leaning hard against it with his back to Jen's table. Damn it. He ordered another beer to settle the sinking feeling dragging his heart into his gut.

Emily frowned from the working-side of the bar, tilting her head at him in a way that meant she was evaluating his aura. She didn't comment on his color or whatever it was she saw, only smiled sadly and slid beer number four along the wood top. He downed half of it in one long chug.

"Any dinner tonight, Shane?" she asked, filling a glass with seltzer water and a sprig of mint. "We've got salad, soup—" A crash from the back store room made her wince. "Had to rearrange the store room due to a leak and Gus keeps—" She sighed, and pushed the glass of seltzer water toward Shane. "I need to check on that. Can you bring this to Jen for me? She looks like she needs it."

She didn't give him a chance to refuse. Shane lifted the glass, staring at the bubbling water as though it was some mysterious potion that might devine whether what had happened the other night in the chicken coop had been a fluke, no matter how good it had felt. Of course, it revealed nothing. He finished his beer for courage, took a breath, and headed toward Jen's table.

She said something with a tight smile as Sebastian laughed, dashed out his cigarette, and stood. The bell over the saloon door sang when Sebastian left, hands thrust into his pockets and a bounce in his step.

She hadn't noticed him yet, so Shane continued trying _not to stare_ as Jen slumped in her chair, sliding the smoking ashtray to the edge of the table. As Jen rummaged in her Joja bag, pulling out a paper pharmacy bag and two pill vials. As she counted out the dose of whatever meds she was taking and held them dully in her palm as though she'd forgotten what steps to take next.

Tried not to stare… and failed.

"Bad date, huh?" he said with a forced laugh, taking Sebastian's vacated chair. Again, idiot. "Um. Emily asked me to bring you this. She had to deal with a crisis in the back."

"That obvious, huh?" Jen rolled her eyes, face turning red as she accepted the drink. "Remember how I… got sick the other night?" She knocked back the medications, swallowing them with a long sip of soda water. "Finally caved and went to Doctor Harvey today. Then nearly passed out walking home from Joja." Abruptly she curled over the table, resting her forehead against the battered wood as though she wished it could swallow her. "Thankfully Sebastian saw me and helped me here, or I might still be sitting in the snow. It's so embarrassing."

A strange elation, a mixture of victory and relief, gripped his throat. Shane coughed, trying to think of what to say, and finally settled on, "You sound more embarrassed about needing help than about puking on my shoes."

"Things were going pretty well before that whole getting-sick part."

He flushed, wishing he still had his beer glass to hide his smile behind. "Yeah, they were."

"Next time I'll try not to mess it up."

 _Next time_. So she'd enjoyed herself, too—enough to want to spend time with him, _like that_ , again. The alcohol, and the uncommon triumph coursing through his veins, loosened up his tongue enough for him to ask, "Want company walking home?"

She tilted her head, flattening her cheek against the table so she watched him out of one eye. And didn't answer for so long that he was half-convinced he hadn't actually had the courage to ask. But then she took a long breath and said, "Yes. I do. And if you promise not to call me a _damsel in distress_ ," she said, twisting her lips into a sneer, "like Sebastian did, I promise not to throw up on you."

Shane stood, scooping up her bags. "Deal."

* * *

They hiked slowly out to her property, forcing a path through the wet and heavy ankle-deep snow. Despite the chill, Shane was in no rush. She'd let him carry half her bags, insisting that she was fine, but judging by how she sagged against him, her shoulder rubbing his, her strength was flagging. Without comment, he slipped the remaining bags from her gloved hands, and she flashed him a brief smile.

"Thanks. Full disclosure: I'm probably the most stubborn person you'll ever meet. I'm trying to get better at asking for help."

"Seems like a good trait for a farmer to have."

"Which, stubbornness or asking for help?"

Shane shrugged. "I meant being stubborn, but both, I suppose."

"Yeah. But it's gotten me into trouble, too. I think that's partly why I didn't leave the city sooner. Grandpa left me the deed for this place when he died two years ago. I could have quit my job and moved out there then. But I didn't."

He glanced down at her. The chill flushed her cheeks, bringing life back into her face. He remembered how determined she'd been in Marnie's barn, dead-set on learning all she could as though she never considered failure as an option. She wouldn't have just given up on the city without a good reason. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "What changed?"

"I was up for a promotion, actually. Hadn't been happy in five years and as my boss was congratulating me I just felt sick, knowing that he was sucking me in, that I'd be stuck there for the rest of my life if I didn't do something about it. My debts—the reasons I took the job in the first place—were paid off. So I walked out."

"Brave."

She shrugged. "My parents prefer the term _reckless_. But one day they'll see what I built here."

There was that stubbornness again. Shane grinned, and she nudged his shoulder, suddenly bashful. "What? You know how it is. You moved out here, too."

He barked a bitter laugh. "You make me sound too damn noble. I was broke," he said, _wanting_ to tell her even as he could no longer meet her eyes. Instead, he looked out across the snow-covered field near the bus stop. "I was barely scraping by, there was no way I could afford to raise Jas after Steph died. My old man never liked me, never liked Steph, and made it clear he wanted nothing to do with Jas, but Marnie… she _cares_ for things, you see how she is. When we showed up on her doorstep, she didn't even blink. I got a job at the JojaMart, full-time and enough for the court to finalize custody. And…" he blew out a breath that misted on the air. "Now here I am, rambling my life story. Sorry. Beer loosens my tongue."

Her grip tightened on his arm, and he thought he heard her whisper, "You were brave, too," but before he could speak, the racket of hammer-on-nails echoed down the lane. Even that warning didn't fully prepare Shane for the skeletal frame of the new barn rising high behind the house. Robin perched on the roof, installing a row of tiles. Nails glinted from the corner of her mouth, reminiscent of her son's cigarette.

"Impressive," Shane said, following Jen up her front porch. Nugget barked a welcome from her post beside the chicken coop, then launched herself toward the porch, her wagging tail making her run sideways until she'd thrust her soft muzzle into Shane's hands. "The whole barn will be done in a few days?"

"I hope so." Jen unlocked the door and pushed it open, giving him a glimpse of her dark, quiet home. She sagged against the door jam. "Thanks for the help. I'd invite you in, but it's a petri dish in here."

He shrugged, setting the bags just inside the door. "If you've got anything like what Jas had, I'm probably immune by this point."

"You think so?" She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then stepped forward to kiss his cheek. Intentionally—with a boldness he hadn't felt in years—he turned his head, letting the quick peck land on his lips.

She pushed him to arm's length, her laughter turning into a harsh cough. "You're tempting fate, Shane. Don't blame me if you get sick."

Just as he was thinking that even if she had the _plague_ she would be worth it, she kissed him again. He leaned into it, wrapping his arms around her in a brief hug that lifted her to her toes and started Nugget barking in excitement all over again. After a moment of indulging in the warmth and feel of her against him, he reluctantly set her down inside the dark warmth of her kitchen.

"Wow." She swayed as she landed, breathing hard as she grasped his fingers in hers. "I really want you to stay. But you really shouldn't."

Heat rose to his cheeks at the gleam in her eyes, and this time he didn't think she was only worried about him falling ill. A smile tugging at his lips, he tamped down the lust, and took a deliberate step backwards onto her front porch.

"Alright," he said, damning the confusing tangle of words all trying to rise in his throat at once. It was so much easier to simply touch her, to let his body express the way he felt without the mess of inadequate words—she seemed to understand him well enough without them. In the end, he settled on, "Feel better soon."

Nugget danced around him, escorting him across the fields, leaping through the snow with a light-hearted freedom that stirred Shane's feet until he was chasing the young dog down the path. The plague would _definitely_ be worth it, he decided as he crossed into Cindersap forest, his heart racing so loudly in his ears that he couldn't even hear the hammering of the barn construction continuing behind him.

* * *

Three days later, Shane dragged a hand over the morning stubble still covering his jaw even though it was half-past eleven, and poured himself a glass of orange juice while wishing it was something a heck of a lot stronger.

"How're the waffles?" he asked, turning toward the kitchen table. Jas looked up at him from her half-finished plate of nearly-burned waffles and a side of plum pudding, grinning a syrupy smile.

"Can we have this for breakfast every day?"

"It's more like brunch, this time." Shane ruffled her hair as he took the seat next to her. "If we did this all the time it wouldn't be as special. Pass me the syrup?"

"I want to pour it!"

He let her douse his stack of waffles in way too much syrup and butter before tucking in. The sugar would have to sustain the rest of his day, because he certainly hadn't rested the night before. Nightmares ravaged Jas' sleep as they sometimes did, and he'd spent the night on her bedroom floor because she insisted that only his presence could chase away the monsters. What the monsters were, or where they had come from, Shane wished he knew.

"Hey, kid. Are you sure you're up for visiting Vincent today?" he asked, watching her wolf down the plum pudding with gusto. She didn't look affected at all by her poor night's sleep, but then, she never did. Still he insisted, "It's okay to tell me if you don't feel like going to a sleepover."

She tsked. "I _like_ Vincent. He lets me be Player One, and one day we're going to get married." She frowned thoughtfully, sticking out her lower lip. "And if I can't sleep, Jodi sings and it helps. Like mom used to sing. Remember?"

"I remember." Christ. The simplest words could knife him straight in the heart. How could Shane forget that spring when Steph had announced she was quitting her college courses to focus on writing a demo album? She'd produced it herself, had picked up an agent… and had given it all up for something _more reliable with better health insurance_ when she'd gotten pregnant with Jas.

For all the good it had done her.

Shane carried their sticky plates to the sink to buy time to compose himself before saying, "You never told me Jodi sings. Would it help if _I_ sang to you?"

Her eyes went round as she shook her head. They both knew he couldn't carry a tune to save his life. "No, Uncle Shane—!" but he ignored her and began to croon the one lullaby he knew, his throat thick with syrup. "No!" she laughed, clapping her hands over her ears. "Stop, stop!"

Shane stuck his tongue out at her. "Okay, I'll stop. But _only_ if you go brush your teeth and get your sleepover bag."

She jumped down from her chair. Shane watched her trott to her room, allowing himself to feel utterly exhausted for five seconds before snagging his glass of OJ from the table and draining it.

In a fit of sober preparation, he'd stashed his swim bag right by their snow boots, so as much as he wanted to ignore it, he still grabbed it before ushering Jas down the snowy lane to Vincent's house. Shane's co-worker Sam opened the door, his guitar hanging from a strap around his neck.

"Hey Shane," Sam said with a nod, then crouched to offer Jas a low-five. "Yo, Jas! Hit me."

She only shook her head, hanging shyly back behind Shane's legs til she spotted Vincent waiting for her on the couch. The little boy held out a game controller to her, and she ran past Sam into the room. He laughed. "Way to leave me hanging!"

Shane raised his eyebrows as he handed Sam Jas' overnight bag. "I didn't realize she was still that shy around you."

"Only when Abby and Seb are here," Sam said with a shrug, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward a back room, where the melody of a keyboard jingled over an underlying drumbeat. "Not a big deal."

"Oh." Shane peered into the spotless room to where Jas was already curled up on the couch. "See you tomorrow, Jas!"

"Bye, Uncle Shane!" She grinned a goodbye, but her attention was locked on the TV screen. Shane rolled his eyes, grateful that at least she could forget her problems in a good video game.

"Mr. Shane," Vincent said, drawing out the "a" of Shane's name in that sing-song way he always did. He pointed toward Shane's bag. "Are those goggles?"

Shane glanced down, flipping the dangling goggles back into the bag and double-checking that his swim trunks hadn't fallen out. "Yeah. They're swim goggles. I'm going to the spa."

Sam whistled, giving Shane a double-take. He looked impressed. "You swim, man?"

"Sometimes. Rehab for the knee. Hurt it playing gridball."

Vincent dropped his controller, wide eyes on Shane. "You played gridball? That's so cool!"

"Yeah, used to," Shane said, uncomfortable at the attention. Wishing for the quickest way to get himself out of this conversation before the kid asked him for his stats, he asked, "Do you play? We can toss around a gridball the next time you come over."

The little boy shook his head. "No. Dad is going to teach me how when he gets home from the war."

"At least your dad is coming back," Jas said breezily, with that cutting childlike honesty that gutted Shane every time. She didn't notice, and only nudged Vincent's arm. "Pick up your controller, silly, or we're going to lose!"

Sam glanced between Jas and Shane, and seemed to understand Shane's devastated expression. "Tell me about it," he said, before smiling in commiseration and tucking Jas' overstuffed bear backpack under his arm.

* * *

Shane swam for an hour straight, double what he'd planned to, but the exertion didn't ease the unintentional sting of Jas' words, nor mute the memory of Steph singing—singing everywhere, even in her hospital bed through lips so chapped they bled. The melody haunted him as he swung by Pierre's on the way home for a handle of whiskey, and as he walked through the silent woods and gathering darkness to his spot on the dock of the Cindersap lake.

He huddled in a blanket at the end of the dock, sitting back with a world-weary sigh. Clouds hung low and threatening over the forest, making the night feel claustrophobic even though the snow was holding off for now. His first shot of whisky chased away the bite of the winter wind and dimmed Steph's song; soon, he didn't hear it at all.

"Shane?"

Jen's bright call blasted through the fog of alcohol, jolting him upright. Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of Jen picking her way down the icy dock, bundled in that vibrant winter coat. "You're alive."

He'd missed the wry grin she gave as she joined him at the dock's edge and said, "Yes, thanks to the miracle of antibiotics and chicken soup, I somehow managed to survive the common cold." She hugged herself against the cold, shaking her head. "What are you doing sitting still out here? You'll freeze to death."

"Thinking," he said with a shrug, turning back toward the snow-covered ice of the lake. He showed her the bottle before taking another swig.

"I see," she said slowly, then rested a hand on his shoulder. "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure."

She took a seat on the blanket beside him, wiggling close for warmth. His breath caught in his chest as her body brushed against his, and he was certain that the whiskey was the only thing keeping his heart from leaping out of his chest. He turned toward her, letting his back take the brunt of the wind, and offered her a drink.

She turned the half-empty bottle over in her hands, looking at the label with an eyebrow raised. "I usually only drink this stuff mixed with cola," she admitted, but unscrewed the cap and knocked back a slug. She shuddered at its taste.

"Keeps you warm," he chuckled, slipping the bottle back into his pocket. "What brings you so far from the farm?"

"I came down to pay Marnie back for those bales of hay," she said. "Then I ran into Leah and she invited me for supper. It was amazing! A salad made entirely from things she'd either grown or foraged. The winter variety was a lot greater than I expected. Did you know Leah is an artist? And she bottles her own wine?"

"I knew about the wine," he said, and when she shivered again, he draped an arm around her shoulders. "Is this okay?"

Jen nodded, and Shane felt himself relax. He didn't want to push, or rush—or, worse, scare her—but something in him simply ached for her closeness. As she settled against him, he continued, "Leah likes to trade bottles of wine with Marnie for eggs and milk and stuff. The spice berry one is pretty good."

"That's the one I tried!" She glanced mischievously up at him. "I might have had a glass or two."

Shane suppressed a smile. "So I'm not the only one imbibing tonight, huh."

"I'm celebrating finally feeling better."

He raised the bottle in toast. "I'll drink to that."

They lapsed into silence for a long while, but that was the nice thing about Jen: with her, he didn't feel pressured to make conversation. The moon shone brightly overhead, gleaming off of the ice and glimmering where it reflected off the snow-laden boughs of the surrounding trees. It was just them, and the lake, and the bitter cold. With Jen hudling against him for warmth, Shane was content to sit there for as long as she liked, watching the clouds slip over the stars.

Wordlessly, he offered her the whisky and she drank another mouthful with a wince. "This stuff is awful. What's got you out here _thinking_ so hard?"

He took his time screwing the cap back onto the bottle before sighing, "Jas."

"Oh?"

"She had nightmares last night. Pretty common. So either she crawls in bed with me, or since she's getting big now, I spend the night on her bedroom floor." He'd meant simply to explain what had him feeling so drained, but found himself admitting, "I think she's happy. But sometimes she says these things that make me wonder if I'm giving her what she needs. I don't really know what I'm doing."

Jen drew her knees to her chest, hugging them thoughtfully. "I've been told that all parents feel like that."

"Sometimes…" he paused against a lump of undefinable emotion rising in his throat, and took another sip of whisky to wash it down. "Sometimes I wonder what Steph was thinking, thinking I could raise her kid for her? I was probably her last resort, but—Christ, part of me was _furious_ when she asked to put that burden on me. Fucking cancer. It threw me into this hole I can't—I feel like no matter what I do I can't climb out of it." He rubbed a hand across his face, but it did nothing to banish the itch of weariness from his eyes. His mind spun within his skull. "Aah. Sorry."

"Shane." Her voice was far too gentle than he deserved. "You don't need to apologize to me for being honest."

"I'm apologizing for being a selfish asshole. Who gets mad at their best friend for trusting them?"

She twisted to look at him, letting his arm slip off her shoulders. "As far as selfish assholes go, you're pretty tame."

He blinked at her, surprised, then choked on a laugh. "What?"

"No, really," she said, looking like she was trying damnably hard to keep her expression serious. "If you want full asshole credit you're going to have to do more than be upset your friend is dead, and do your best to raise her kid."

He couldn't tell if she was _actually_ pissed at him, but based on her wide eyes, he judged she was at least a little drunk. Playfully he challenged, "Do you have a check list?"

She snorted, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'll tell you later." She slipped her mittened hand into his, gave him a comforting squeeze. "You're doing the best you can, Shane. You care. That's all anyone can ask."

He blew out a breath, tilting his head back to look at the stars, but she wasn't done.

"You keep going. You keep trying. You have to."

She wasn't talking about him, not any longer; her eyes had that faraway, sad look about them that she'd gotten during the Fair. He slid his arm back around her shoulders, half-hugging her closer.

"Jen?" It took him what felt like eons to to dredge up the courage to meet her expectant face, to bare his soul enough to admit, "You being here… it makes me feel better."

She slipped her hand from her mitten and touched his cheek, faintly smiling. "It makes me feel better too."

* * *

 **Author's note:** Happy New Year! May your 2018 be bright and happy. -twinsuns


	6. Chapter 6

Six

For the first time in many mornings, Jen awoke to silence rather than to the thunder of Robin's hammer. Small mercies. She groaned as the morning sunlight snuck through her bedroom shutters to strike her full in the face, and curled tighter against the ball of warmth sharing her bed. Nugget, realizing Jen was awake, immediately wiggled free to lay half-sprawled over Jen's chest, trembling with the excitement of _waking up_.

Jen wished she could summon half of the dog's enthusiasm for getting out of bed. Her head throbbed, the drinks from the night before lingering into a hangover. The two...three?... shots of whisky on top of the wine had been a mistake. The only thing that had saved her from yet another indulgence—inviting Shane home—was that by the time they'd left the dock late last night, his own head had been swimming in alcohol.

And Jen wanted him in her bed too much to risk ruining it with a drunken encounter.

She smiled, stretching under deliciously sun-warmed sheets. The way he touched her when they were together made it obvious he wanted her, too. It was small consolation for waking up alone, but at least he wasn't looking for a sloppy hook-up either. Her fingers wandered beneath her underwear as she recalled his shy smile, the feeling of his shoulder and thigh pressed warmly against hers as they huddled on the dock, the roughness of his stubble on her palm…

Warmth and pleasure bloomed between her legs, pooling in her belly, as she rubbed her fingers right in that spot she wished that _he_ was touching. She closed her eyes, imagining it, imagining his jaw scraping along the skin of her inner thigh... the sensation of grinding on him through his jeans that night in the chicken coop... the way it might feel if he moved inside her...

 _God_. Shane. She arched against her own fingertips, breathing hard, halfway disbelieving that she was coming this hard or this fast. In her mind, his blue eyes were keen on her as he asked "What _do_ you want, Jen?" The quiet intensity of the memory—and the idle thought of him lying in his bed, touching himself and thinking of her this way—pushed her right over the edge.

Later, slightly less stir-crazy with want, Jen stood on the porch with a steaming cup of her favorite coffee while Nugget romped and snuffled in the fresh snow drifts. Her entire farm glittered with frost under the noon sun, serene and silent but for the playful dog.

Five years ago, she'd lost nearly everything. During the worst of it, she'd never imagined that she could regain this much control over her own life. A terrifying amount of control. If she failed, she'd be left with absolutely nothing but this land. She'd have to crawl back to her parents and admit that they were right: that although her ex, Adam, might have bashed a giant hole into her plans, she should have simply tried to forgive and forget like her parents had begged her to.

She snorted, forcing herself to ease her grip on her coffee mug before she shattered it. Some things shouldn't be forgiven; some things couldn't be forgotten.

In the fallout, Adam had called her selfish, one last jab before she'd filed for divorce and cut off contact. When she'd moved here, her parents said that she was only running away from her problems, as usual.

No matter how much their judgements stung, Briarly Farm felt right in the marrow of her bones. She wished they understood this feeling, the stomach-swooping expectation, the fear of the potential of her wild, ice-shrouded land—the buoyant hope that helped her plan for spring.

Yet no matter how hard she tried to forget the shadows of her past, she couldn't seem to let them go.

* * *

Later that day, Jen hovered near the door of Clint's smithy, finding it hard to leave the sweltering heat of the forgefire.

Clint hefted Jen's hoe and the two axes from the countertop, examining the patina of their ancient copper finish with a low whistle. "These as old as the dirt on the farm?" he asked, so matter-of-fact she wasn't sure if he was joking. She offered a smile in case he was.

"They might be. The handles feel loose. I'm afraid they'll fly right off one day."

"Well," he said, drawing out the word in such intense consideration that he seemed to forget she was there. "They just need a little TLC. I can upgrade them to a stronger steel. Or even gold."

"Wow. People _gild_ their tools?"

Clint leaned against the counter, folding his arms over the tools with a shrug. "My forgecraft are iridium. Gotta invest in the way you make your living."

 _Iridium_. She'd seen the majestic gems glittering in sets of foreign jewelry in the Zuzu Museum of History, the thought of using the precious stone to till her fields was laughable. "True, but it doesn't make my coin purse feel any better. Let's stick with steel for now." She slunk reluctantly to the chilly air beside the shop door. "Thanks for staying open late for me. Let me know when to come pick them up?"

"Sure. I'll mail the invoice over once they're done and I've got the total billable hours nailed down."

Total billable hours. Jen shuddered, recalling the accounting spreadsheets she'd labored over at Joja. Granted, five years on the job had taught her enough that the accounting for her farm was simple, but they weren't years she was eager to repeat. Clint didn't notice her flinch. He drummed his fingers on the counter, and Jen could tell he was already looking inward, planning the project. His eyes brightened as he nodded to himself. "I think I can get it done before next weekend."

"I'm not in a hurry. Just need them before spring!"

But he didn't hear her. He was already turning back to his forge.

Outside, she grit her teeth and leaned into the biting wind. Taunting sunlight broke through the low-hanging clouds swirling in, sparking off the dusting of snow settling over the thin copse of trees blocking the sea breeze.

The ocean itself loomed dark and beautiful on the horizon, luring her across the river. Sand mingled with snow in churned-up footprints leading toward Elliott's lonesome cabin. The winter wind, heavy with the tang of salt, hit her full-force as she stepped off the bridge. It leeched the warmth from her, and suddenly braving the pier to Willy's fishing shop in the foul weather, with the ocean raging rough beneath the frosted pier, seemed much less of a good idea than it had that morning.

Tips for ice fishing could wait, Jen decided, letting the wind push her back over the bridge. She had one last item on her day's agenda, one that put a smile on her face as Clint's advice popped into mind: Gotta invest in the way you make your living.

The barn was complete. It was time to fill it.

* * *

The field outside Cindersap forest thrummed with activity, at odds with its normal solitude. The Mayor, Emily, and Robin set up ice fishing stations around one of the small ponds while Leah and Willy made careful cuts in the ice itself, all in preparation for the next day's Festival of Ice.

Noticing her approach through the lane between Marnie's ranch and Leah's home, Willy waved and called, "Been practicing with that fishing pole?"

"Not as much as I should," Jen hollered back with a grin, meandering closer to the lake and her grandfather's old friend. She glanced around the to-be fairgrounds, her face warming as she spotted the empty pier at the far side of the lake. The spot that always made her think of Shane. She ripped her concentration from the pier and memory of her drunken-cuddling with Shane the night before, and focused again on Willy. "Is it safe to walk on the lake with all those cuts in it?"

Willy winked at her, as though her city naivety amused him, and sniffed sagely at the air. "Coldest night of the year, the night before the Festival of Ice. I can smell the ice coming. The fish can sense it too," he said, then hefted his saw to test the ice below his feet.

"Thanks for the head's up," Jen said, hiding a smile at his prophetic tone. "I should finish up my errands before it gets here, then."

"And make sure you've got plenty of wood stacked for your fireplace."

She waved goodbye, and bee-lined to the ranch. The door to Marnie's store was locked when Jen knocked, but Jas's high-pitched voice drew Jen around to the front pasture. One of the barn doors stood open, letting light spill across the fresh snow.

Jen walked through the pasture gate before really considering what she was doing, and was halfway across the pasture before propriety made her hesitate. But she'd already plowed through snow nearly up to her knees and her tracks were obvious, and the light and warmth of the barn were irresistible. Jen knocked against the barn door before stepping through, hugging herself against the lingering chill.

The bay horse spotted her first, glancing at her with languid brown eyes as Jen crept into the barn. Marnie stood between them, supporting Jas on a step stool as the little girl, so bundled up against the cold she looked like a pink marshmallow, bit her tongue while fiddling with the horse's halter.

"Make sure to pull it snug, Jas," Marnie said, surreptitiously checking the harness straps after Jas fastened them. "Or else Lady won't know that you're in charge."

"And she'll run me around the lake," Jas said, grinning like she couldn't wait.

Marnie chuckled. "She's headstrong. Do you remember what I told you?"

"The rider is in charge. That's me."

"Yes. And it's far too cold for chasing after her if she runs away with the reins. Ready? Run get your helmet before it gets too dark out to ride."

Jas hopped off the stool and ran toward the back door of the house. Feeling awkward, like a voyeur of the family's private life, Jen cleared her throat. "Ah, Marnie? Hi."

Marnie turned, surprised, and brushed her graying hair from her face. "Jen, dear! Get in here out of that snow."

"I didn't mean to intrude—" Jen began, a bit bashfully, as she crossed toward Lady's stall.

Marnie waved away her concern. "Don't worry about that. I wanted to exercise the horses before we get iced in, so I locked up shop a little early. We can pop back over if there's something you need?"

"Robin finished my barn, actually, and I was hoping you—oh, hello." The heady scent of horse washed across Jen as the curious horse snuffled at her face, its ears pricked forward in interest.

"Forgive Lady," Marnie said fondly, patting the horse's neck. "She can be a bit bossy."

"Oh, I don't mind." Smiling, Jen let Lady get a good sniff of her fingers before raising them to stroke the horse's velvety nose. "When I was really little, grandpa had horses. The stable is just behind the house, but these days it looks more like a wood dump."

"I remember your grandpa's horses. Ah, money pits, they are." Marnie planted a big kiss on Lady's jaw, her eyes sparkling with delight. "But I love them anyway. It's getting harder for me to ride my two as often as I should, but Jas is nearly ready to ride on her own. You'd never know that girl was born in the city, the way she's taken to my animals."

Jen would never have guessed that Jas wasn't a blood-relative of Marnie's, for all the pride in the older woman's voice. She pressed a hand over her heart as the pang of longing, of _missing_ , struck her again as it always did: creeping up on her when it was least expected. Forward, she had to keep looking forward. Realizing she'd let the thread of the conversation hang, Jen forged on with,

"With the barn done, I was thinking of what you said about raising sheep for wool. What do you think?"

If Marnie had noticed Jen's jagged edges, she gave no sign. "Sheep are wonderful, but my flock is thin this winter. Nothing I'd feel good selling, at least not til spring. I _do_ have a late bloomer calf that's recently been weaned that would be a great starter for you. Or one of the young goats. Or one of each," she added with a wink.

"That could work," Jen said, plotting it out in her mind. "They can get me started with milk and cheese. That'll give me time to learn more about wool—"

"Marnie!" Jas's shout preceded her dash down the stables. "I found my helmet!"

Spotting Jen, Jas immediately skidded to a halt and retreated behind the legs of the man following her: Shane, wearing his typical casual jeans and a hoodie. Jen's stomach fluttered as a bout of school-girl giddiness struck her—a giddiness that intensified as he met her eyes and smiled, a quiet hello that seeped warmth into Jen's bloodstream and got her heart racing.

"It's okay, Jas." He crouched next to Jas and asked gently, "Remember what you wanted to tell Miss Jen? About the pumpkin."

Jas glanced over at Jen, eyes widening when Jen took a step closer. "Thank you Miss Jen for the pumpkin," she mumbled, hiding her face behind her helmet. "Carving it was really fun."

Jen hid a smile at Jas's adorable discomfort. "You're welcome, Jas."

"Very good," Marnie said, holding her hand out to her adopted niece. "Now climb on up, Lady is ready to run!"

Jen watched in silence as Shane boosted the girl into the saddle and Marnie led the horse out a side door into snowy Cindersap forest. With the bluster of the horse and Marnie's cheer and Jas's suppressed exuberance gone, the barn fell silent.

But Jen didn't mind Shane's silences. She wandered through the barn, trailing her hand along the wooden railway until she found the long pen of goats next to the pair of growing calves munching hay with their drowsing dams. Shane's boots scuffed behind her as he followed. A heater blazed nearby, warm enough that Jen shrugged out of her winter coat and draped it over the railing.

"I'm sorry Jas hid from you. She'll warm up. Kids are funny sometimes."

"It's alright. You don't have to apologize," Jen reminded him, her soul aching all over again as she recalled his slurred words from the night before, when he'd opened up about the trials of raising his dead best friend's daughter. In an attempt to lighten the subject, she said, "With the barn done, Marnie thinks I should start with both a calf and a goat. Do you think it will be too much to take on?"

She savored his warmth as he stepped close behind her to survey the animals. "I could take another look at the barn, but based on the glance I got I'd say you've got plenty of space. Although goats are pretty mischievous."

Jen laughed. The squat, long-haired goats—boasting a mixture of brown and white and honey-colored hair, half with horns and half without, all with long drooping ears—blinked up at her with yellow eyes from their huddle in the corner. "Really? They look calm to me."

He smirked, leaning his forearms on the railing beside her. "That's because they're full from dinner. Otherwise they'd be climbing on top of whatever they can. They chew everything and bother the chickens. They'll probably get into your crops. But I like them."

"Despite all that?" she nettled, nudging him with her elbow.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he said, nudging her back.

They stayed close, watching the young goats crowd one another for prime sleeping position, until Jen worked up the courage to slide her hand over Shane's. Wordlessly he turned his hand over, palm up, so they could link fingers. Jen caught her breath as the intimate contact re-kindled the desire she had managed—barely—to tamp down that morning.

"Everyone keeps saying that tonight is likely to be the coldest night of the year," Jen said, flushing because what she was building herself up to ask was burning her up inside. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on one of the goats, a mischievous black-spotted female that Jen instantly decided should come home to her barn.

Oblivious to Jen's meaning, Shane merely nodded. "Always is, night before the Festival of Ice. At least, so far as I've been here."

"I thought—maybe—" No. Be direct, be clear. She took a breath, and gulped, "Do you want to spend it with me? At my—at my house?"

Shane froze, as though despite how forward she was being, he needed to be absolutely sure he'd interpreted her correctly.

Trying to be clearer, she said, "Tomorrow's the Festival, the town will be closed if you want to... sleep over..." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, trying to smother an embarrassed grimace as she added, "…I'm not very good at this."

Shane stared at their joined hands, then pulled her around to face him. He half-hid a smile. "Actually, you read my mind."

"That's a yes?"

He burst out laughing, the sound so sudden it startled the goats. Just as suddenly, he lifted her by the waist and set her atop the low railing. He stood between her legs, tantalizingly close.

"Of course yes," he whispered, brushing her hair back from her shoulders before kissing her, kindling a fire that nearly scorched every shred of her remaining restraint. Her hands roamed over his back, his waist, pulling him into her as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"Hold tight," he said, half a moment before he picked her up. Jen clung to his shoulders and hips as he carried her to a darkened side aisle and pressed her against the wall, knocking aside a broom in the process. It clattered to the floor, sending three chickens flying in indignation. Jen ignored the noise as they wrapped tighter into one another. Like that first time in the chicken coop, Shane ground against her, easily finding those intimate pressure points as though he was already well-acquainted with her body.

Damn their clothes. Shane's tender, urgent kisses devoured her as she unwrapped her legs from his waist, getting her own feet under her. The show of strength—carrying her, pinning her against the wall, his growing confidence—was too much. Desperate for more, her hand cupped the bulging groin of his jeans.

"Can I?" she asked, tugging at his belt.

"Anything you want," he said, nearly panting as he jerked at the zipper of his pants. Desire had clearly obliterated his usual shyness, the way it had obliterated her inhibitions. Jen shoved his pants and boxers down, than ran her hands up his strong thighs, all the way to the throbbing heat of his hardening cock. His eyes widened as she dropped to her knees. Clearly not what he'd been expecting.

"Jen?"

"This morning I got off to the idea of you doing this to me. Let me return the favor."

 _That_ put the blush back into his cheeks, until she took him into her mouth. A satisfied sigh hissed through his teeth as she ran her tongue over him, getting the feel of him before speeding her rhythm. "That feels… so good."

He ran his fingers through her hair, the light touch along her scalp making her shiver. The smell and taste of his skin surrounded her, warm and utterly addictive. She desperately wanted to learn what he'd be like in bed—but for now, Jen was in control. His pulse pounding in her mouth thrilled her, and the way his cock pulsed when she hit just the right chord. He shifted his hips as though barely restraining the urge to thrust, and Jen backed down the tempo, teasing him. His erratic breathing as he tilted back his head and closed his eyes and gasped, "I'm close— _don't stop_ —I'm coming—" drove her dangerously near the edge.

He shuddered into her with a moan, his warm seed too much to swallow. When he was spent, she sucked him one last time—slow and gentle, promising more—and spit the cum into the dirt before he pulled her to her feet and threw his arms around her.

"Christ, Jen," he said, pressing her forehead to hers as though the pleasure had ripped the energy from him. "Christ. You're so fucking sexy."

Sexy. She'd gone down at him in a barn, across from a pen of goats, and the man still thought her sexy. Jen laughed, trying not to sound nervous as she joked, "So… still want to come over tonight?"

In answer, Shane cupped his hands over her butt, squeezing hard enough stir butterflies in her stomach, and pressed his hips to hers. "I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, serious yet somehow uncertain. As though despite all evidence, he wasn't sure if she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

She held one of his hands to her chest, so he couldn't deny the raging of her heartbeat. A thrum of intimacy rose between them, growing in their shared, shallow breaths. She didn't know how to be clearer other than to say, "I want you so much."

He bit his lower lip, still shy as he slowly undid the clasp of her jeans and slipped a hand beneath the waist. Jen shivered as his fingers brushed through the hair between her legs, inching toward her most sensitive skin. "Alright?" he asked, voice strained. She laughed again, breathless, and nodded.

This wasn't real, this couldn't be real. She wasn't a risk-seeker, eager for the fear of being caught, of having sex in open spaces like this. She never even really talked dirty. All of that went out the window as her mind filled with the things she wished Shane would do to her— _now_ —and she wanted to tell him all of them.

His middle finger moved delicately over the mound of her sex, between her lips, to her clit as though he was afraid his touch might break her. She leaned into him, closing her eyes as that spark of pleasure sprung again to life. "You can press harder. Move your fingertip in a circle." She shuddered as he obeyed. " _Yes_." Her knees buckled at the touch, from the pleasure spinning through her head like a strong wine.

Outside, the wind howled, slamming against the barn hard enough that it shook around them. In Shane's arms, she barely noticed.

"You're so wet." The whispered words nearly set her on fire. He slipped his finger into her, thrusting it so slowly she nearly begged for more. "Does this feel good?" he asked.

She forced herself to capture his gaze, silently demanding that he not look away. "More."

He held her close, confident now, and carefully slipped another finger inside. Eyes still locked with hers, he said, "I'm going to take your legs right out from under you."

 _Oh God._

The barn door creaked open, and Jen sprang away from him as though standing so close to him, feeling the way she did, was illegal. Her heart rattled in her chest, its beat echoing in her ears. Head still spinning, she leapt to the goat pen as though she'd been there the entire time, and surreptitiously buttoned her jeans. Behind her, Shane swore lightly and straightened his clothing before stepping into the main aisle.

Jas led Lady inside by the reins, grinning wildly. "It's snowing!" she shrieked when she spotted her uncle. " _Really hard_. Aunt Marnie went in to make us hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate?" Shane repeated, voice over-wrought to match her enthusiasm as he took Lady's reins and led the horse the rest of the way into her stall. " _And_ she's letting you stall Lady all by yourself?"

Jen watched them out of the corner of her eyes while pretending to study the goats, still shaky from how he very nearly _had_ taken her legs right out from under her, and how very nearly they'd been caught doing it. By Jas no less. And instead of feeling horrified, the only coherent thought Jen could squeeze out of her brain was how badly she wished the girl had waited just two more minutes to open that door.

"Yeah. She's going to check me when I'm done," Jas replied stoutly, already working at removing Lady's saddle. When Shane reached for the girth strap, Jas lunged to stop him. "I can do it by myself!"

"Alright," Shane said mildly, crossing his arms as he stepped out of the stall, letting the little girl manage on her own. "Do you remember what Marnie taught you about staying calm around the animals?" ...Jas?" he prompted in a slightly sterner tone when she didn't answer.

"They don't like loud noises," Jas mumbled after a moment. "Sorry, Lady."

The horse neighed, as if in response, before ripping into the hay piled in her feed bucket, spreading it around the floor. Shane looped Lady's reins over the stall door. "Hey Jasi, I'm going to walk Miss Jen to the sale's counter, then I'll be right back."

Jen smiled at the nickname and reminded herself to breathe as Shane shoved his hand into his pockets and strolled casually over to her. Behind him, Jas hauled a step-stool into Lady's stall, gibbering happy nonsense to the horse.

"I don't think your face can get any redder," he told Jen with a smug grin.

"I wonder why," Jen groaned, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, as though that could make her disappear. "Jas could have seen us."

"She didn't," Shane said, shrugging. "She's still oblivious about some things," he said, and then kissed her as though to prove it. His lips didn't linger on hers, no matter how badly she wished they would.

Jen sighed, grabbing her jacket from the railing. "Well. If the storm is as bad as Jas says, I should get home to make sure I've battened down all the hatches."

Shane watched her in silence for a few moments before venturing, "Why don't you come in and have some hot chocolate? Then Marnie can get you set up with the animals. There's no rush."

Jen tugged up the zipper of her jacket, a protest rising in her throat. But truly, he was right. Nugget was safely bundled in the house, with a doggy-door if she needed to get outside-not like she would, with that wind howling. Jen had locked the chicken coop before leaving the farm for the day. There was nothing else pressing, nothing else requiring her presence at the farm _this very moment_. People had gotten lost in blizzards walking shorter distances than her hike up to her farm.

What _do_ you want, Jen?

Jen wanted to stay. She wanted to relish the butterflies that twirled in her stomach every time Shane looked at her. She wanted to talk with Marnie about the animals she'd be buying, and find out if Jas had already named them. She wanted Jas not to be frightened of her.

Mostly, she wanted to brave the eventual walk home with Shane beside her, relishing the promise that'd he be there to help warm her back up.

She held her hand out to him. "Hot chocolate sounds great."

* * *

 **Author's note** : I meant to have this out for Valentine's day, but missed the mark. *blushes* I'm practicing a—ahem—more _heated_ style of romance in this fic than I normally write. Hope you enjoyed! As always, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!


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